26 Rising
by Royscalo
Summary: *CLOSED* With Annabelle Snow at the helm of this year's games, the tributes can see they are going to be more violent than ever.  But with the new Quarter Quell, will the tributes live long enough to escape?
1. The Print Out

**Author's Note: If you want your tribute to get accepted, you're going to have to do a nice job. Also, make sure to make the name District canon, not something like Maddie, John, Andrew, or Lisa. And I will choose the POV characters from whoever said yes to the POV question AFTER all tributes have been selected. At the bottom, I will put a notification list to show if your tribute is accepted, pending, or denied.**

**SEND ME THE TRIBUTES IN A PM. DO NOT REVIEW YOUR CHARACTER.**

Annabelle Snow's fingers flew across the keyboard as she typed in the commands to get the document.

**_CAPITOL_LOG_34-2_**

**/hungergames**

**/100**

**/quarterquell**

**/tributes**

**_opn_tributes_list**

**ext_auto_list**

**opn_d1d12**

**ext_d13**

**opn**

**ext_9-3rts**

**prntscrn**

Annabelle smiled, watching the printer shudder as it pulled in a sheet of crisp, new, Capitol paper, making loud noises as it pressed the prints down. In a few seconds, the paper slid out of the printer's slot, and upon it was an empty Capitol document.

She frowned, and went back to the console.

**show_auto_list**

**edit_d1**

**opn_**

**ext_d13**

**mrg_dlist**

**opn**

**prntscrn**

The printer shuddered, letting out quite a few beeps before the paper slid out into the slot.

"Stupid machine." Annabelle muttered. She walked over to the printer, taking the list out of the slot. This time, the list had two columns and thirteen rows. But the list was still empty.

"No rigging this year? Interesting…" Annabelle glanced at the document again.

**_DLIST_**

**d1m_Saimon_Lyre**

**d1f_Glide_Ollar**

**d2m_Ichor_Varius**

**d2f_Ally_Rave**

**d3m_Kelvin_Gaecy**

**d3f_Ella_Trick**

**d4m_Roy_Frill**

**d4f_Aquaria_Wave**

**d5m_Nox_Akes**

**d5f_Terra_Xenon**

**d6m_Tequi_Geneas**

**d6f_Hart_Everstone**

**d7m_Grant_Sobil**

**d7f_Hollow_Azeman**

**d8m_Nilon_Tailor**

**d8f_Linsey_Tailor**

**d9m_Husk_Maddren**

**d9f_**Patience_Wilkes****

**d10m_Hywel_Garett_Liumentis**

**d10f_Jennylynn_Stonehill  
><strong>

**d11m_Marshall_Flora**

**d11f_Astrex_Monsoon**

**d12m_Cole_Knight**

**d12f_Emily_Mellark**

**d13m_Mim_Quazi**

**d13f_Vellia_Dachben**

**Author's Note:**

**Hello, and welcome to 26 Rising. This story will be started shortly, once all characters are filled out. The character form is below…**

**Name:**

**Age:**

**District (list 3):**

**Gender:**

**Appearance:**

**General Clothes:**

**Personality:**

**Habits/Drugs:**

**History:**

**Family (BE DESCRIPTIVE):**

**Friends (BE DESCRIPTIVE):**

**District Status:**

**Thoughts on Capitol/Games:**

**Job:**

**Alliance:**

**Romance:**

**Reaping Outfit:**

**Interview Outfit:**

**Interview Angle:**

**Chariot Outfit:**

**Strengths:**

**Weaknesses:**

**Favorite Weapon:**

**Reaped/Volunteered:**

**Reaction/Reason:**

**POV (yes or no, if you want your character to be one):**

**Other:**

**POV CHARACTERS**

**Grant Sobil**

**Emily Mellark**

**Glide Ollar**

**Tequi "Duke" Geneas**

**Hart Everstone**

**Astrex Monsoon  
><strong>

**ALTERNATE POVs (Will be a POV for one chapter only)**

**Jennylynn Stonehill**

**Hywel Garett Liumentis**

**NOTIFICATIONS**

**Maddie Grace - Denied. (Sorry, I'm going to need a detailed review).**

**Arteimus Matrix - Denied, Revisioned. (Sorry, needs to be a PM).**

**Hart Everstone - Accepted, Accepted POV.**

**Race Delarius - Denied. (Too outrageous).**

**Hollow Azeman - Accepted.**

**Kelvin Gaecy - Accepted.**

**Aquaria Wave - Accepted.**

**Ally Rave - Denied (Sorry, it's going to need to be more detailed :/)**

**Astrex Monsoon - Accepted, Accepted POV.**

**Ally Rave (2.0) - Accepted.**

**Nilon Tailor (2.0) - Accepted.**

**Patience Wilkes - Accepted.**

**Jennylynn Stonehill - Accepted.**

**Cole Knight - Accepted.**

**Cole Kasai - Denied (unless you want him to be D10).**

**Hywel Garett Liumentis - Accepted.**

**Linsey Tailor (2.0) - Accepted.**


	2. The Sponsors

"Annabelle?" Someone called from out in the hallway.

"What do you want, Hallen?" The man came in the doorway, smiling, holding up a bright manila folder, pieces of stray paper almost falling out of it.

"What's that?" Annabelle asked, her eyes still looking at the newly printed "dlist."

"Sponsor info for this year. You might want to read it." Annabelle grabbed the folder from Hallen, shooing him out the door and shutting it behind him. Annabelle sat down at her desk, slowly opening up the folder to prevent any paper from falling out. There were different documents on new swords and daggers from B. Kade, factory accidents, bag production, and a list of sponsors this year.

"This'll be interesting..."

**SPONSOR INFO**

**2 points for female tribute  
>3 points for male tribute<br>1 point for reviewing (After the chapter "Welcome to My Life")  
>5 points for trapmutt/terrain idea  
>2 points for correct answer to sponsor question<strong>

_1 point prizes~  
>- Small black pouch (empty)<br>- Glass bottle  
>- Water bottle<em>

_2 point prizes~  
>- Beef jerky<br>- Cleaning cloth  
>- Soap bar<br>- Mouthwash_

_5 point prizes~  
>- Pain pills<br>- Steel bowl  
>- Soda bottle (full, any type you like)<br>- Toiletry kit  
>- Rain hat<br>- Ice pack_

_7 point prizes~  
>- Bug bit cream<br>- Bandaid package  
>- Empty backpack<br>- Small wool blanket  
>- Jacket (color of your choice)<em>

_10 point prizes~  
>- Kitchen knife<br>- Windbreaker  
>- Gloves<br>- Water purification tablets (5)  
>- Canned meat<br>- Fruit (2 of your choice)  
>- Normal wool blanket<br>- Mirror  
>- Tarp<em>

_15 point prizes~  
>- Small blunt dagger<br>- Pouch (jerky, fruit of your choice, floss, sunglasses)  
>- Lighter<br>- Chocolate bar  
>- Burn ointment<br>- Lotion_

_20 point prizes~  
>- Fruit basket<br>- Silk blanket  
>- Hoody<br>- Sleeping medicine  
>- Small Capitol meal<br>- Shortbow_

_25 point prizes~  
>- Bread basket<br>- Normal Capitol meal  
>- Nightlock<br>- Dagger  
>- Arrow (25)<br>- Backpack (tarp, bedroll, jerky, fruit)_

_30 point prizes~  
>- Morphling<br>- Bedroll_

_50 point prizes~  
>- Capitol sleeping bag<br>- Shortsword  
>- District 6 medicine (of your choice)<br>- Wrapped banquet bowl  
>- Machete<em>

_75 point prizes~  
>- Longsword<br>-Body armour  
>- Faceguard<br>- Crossbow  
>- Climbing equipment<br>- Electrical equipment_

_80 point prizes~  
>- Chainmail vest<em>

_100 point prizes~  
>- Backpack (Bedroll, sleeping bag, tarp, food packs (2), jerky, crackers, fruit of your choice, dagger)<br>- District 2 grade longsword  
>- Camouflage kit<em>

_**SPONSORS ~**_

___YourWorstEnemy2010 (Saimon Lyre, Kelvin Gaecy) ~ 6 points_

_Halibelknight (Ally Rave) ~ 7 points_

_FinnicksSugarCube (Aquaria Wave) ~ 8 points_

_Gergo Pasztor (Nox Akes, Duke Geneas, Nilon Tailor) ~ 13 points_

_A Mosaic Masterpiece (Hart Everstone) ~ 2 points_

_No Safe and Sound (Hollow Azeman) ~ 2 points_

_laralulu (Linsey Tailor) ~ 2 points_

_WolfRida (Husk Maddren) ~ 9 points_

_Phantasia515 (Patience Wilkes) ~ 2 points_

_RioluRules13 (Hywel Liumentis) ~ 14 points_

_DarkenedEarth (Jennylynn Stonehill) ~ 2 points_

_SerpentWinged (Astrex Monsoon) ~ 5 points_

_MockingJay and the jabberJay (Cole Knight) ~ 6 points_

_EnvyIsMySin (Emily Mellark) ~ 5 points_

_Petemidnight13 (N/A) ~ 10 points (I'm only using two. Honestly, you overloaded my brain)_


	3. Finn and Fulcher

**Author's Note: I can't really "start" the story until I get all the characters AND I finish 99****th**** Games (it only has one chapter left and I'm almost done with it), so tell all the great people you know to create a character :3**

**I just created a small chapter, but sponsor points still won't count until "Welcome to My Life."**

Finn Yang walked down the main hall of the Training Center, a wide grin on his face and a very important file in his hand. Capitolites who came across his path stopped to watch him walk by, happier than they had ever seen any victor before.

Finn was the victor of the 80th Hunger Games, and had won by slaughtering over half of the tributes (with a little help from the Careers, who he then backstabbed) at the bloodbath. Only three other tributes had survived: the massive boy from District 2, Brock Challan, the girl from District 5, Gaemia Pire, and the boy from District 11, Wheater Illis.

Wheater and Gaemia suffered quick deaths from the hands of Finn, who then almost died himself when facing Brock. Brock died, but not before he shattered Finn's arm on a nearby rock.

Finn's arm was repaired by the Capitol, and now he served the Capitol as a messenger for the President. He also had the record in the Capitol's book for the best tribute that ever lived.

Finn bet that raised the confidence of other victors.

Finn strutted into the office of Fulcher Morris, the head Gamemaker for the 100th Hunger Games. Fulcher looked surprised to see him, but all Finn had to do was slam the folder down on Fulcher's desk. As Finn prepared to leave, the Head Gamemaker spoke up.

"What's this?" He asked. Finn smiled, turning around to face him.

"These are orders from Annabelle Snow to change whatever wimpy layout you have for the current Games to this." Fulcher frowned, picking up the folder and flipping through the files. His smile dropped.

"What in the good Lord is this? My people could get killed just setting up this thing! And what is this about District 13?" Finn put his hands on the Gamemaker's desk and leaned forwards.

"You will build this arena on the grounds of The New. You will add these deadly traps to the arena, and you will kill _anyone_ you find living there. Understand?" Fulcher gulped.

"Um, yes…_sir_."

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm late for dinner."

"It's 2 PM."

"Exactly." Finn smiled, taking his hands off of the desk and spinning around, walking straight back out the door from which he came. He stopped right outside.

"And if you value your life, you will tell nobody but your team about this." And with that, Finn turned the corner and was gone from Fulcher's field of vision.

Hands shaking, Fulcher flipped open the folder's cover once again. He read the instructions on the first page and then scanned the documents. As he read, his face fell further and further.

**Author's Note: **Just so you know, the next chapter will be around 5-6 times longer than this. This is just a (very) short intro to get us started. Hopefully I'll be able to get all the characters soon

See ya later!


	4. Welcome To My Life

**Author's Note: Well, I'm done with lengthy author's notes. Anyway...PEOPLE. I NEED TRIBUTES. I would like to have them earlier, but I can't start the reapings until I have everyone filled out. So...start filling out the forms!**

**I guess I'm going to be cursing a lot more in this story...**

Well, here is our first POV character, introduced at the end of 99th Games:

The wood splits easily under my five-year old axe, little splinters breaking off and flying into the cold winter air. Snow was piled all around District 7 and the surrounding area; no doubt it covered most (if not all) of Panem. My medium brown hair was slicked with sweat, which dripped onto my coal black winter jacket, as the cap I was wearing didn't exactly absorb all of the sweat.

I brought another log up onto the stump, pulling the old iron axe away from my shoulder. It was covered in a slushy mixture that reminded me of the sleet that fell over my District sometimes.

My name is Grant Sobil. I am 17 years old, and I am quite possibly going to be District 7's male tribute for the 100th Hunger Games.

You see, I have three sisters and a little brother, and my father is a lazy bum. My mother takes all the stress while my father, the dick that he is, goes off and bangs some other chick or gets drunk off of white liquor. Urrel Sobil is a total asshole, through and through.

My mother, Ardenna, has a job carting wood back and forth between the lumberyard and the processing plants. She's much stronger than my father, and a lot more clean and beautiful at that. I don't even know why she married him in the first place. But then again, if that hadn't happened, I wouldn't exist. She talked to me about it one afternoon:

_"Fuck him. All he ever does is spend all our money on booze."_

_"Honey...don't talk about your father like that."_

_"Why? You're not telling me you don't agree." She turned to me, and I shrank under her gaze._

_"Urrel hasn't always been like this. He used to be a nice guy, carefree and always getting the top mark in his class."_

_"What happened?"_

_"I...I got pregnant. With you." My gaze shifted._

_"And?"_

_"He didn't want to bear that commitment, but he still loved me. He doesn't give two shits for you."_

_"And the little ones?"_

_"Probably not. Eat your vegetables." She picked up her plate and walked towards the kitchen, not giving me a second glance._

He probably didn't care about anything but money and sex, but I didn't give a fuck about him. I cared about my siblings, though.

Little Baby Miki was usually throwing random crap from her toy box at me (which only consisted of a doll, a toy car, and some old dog toy that my brother, Josef, had fixed up). She was short-tempered and usually spoke in broken sentences. She didn't care for anybody else's opinion.

"Candy now!" I remembered fondly.

Kalea was seven, and she was already starting to help me out in the winter, as she always had some sort of warm drink ready for me when I came back in from cutting wood. She seemed to be quite the cook, and I was pretty sure she had helped my mother with a few meals.

Josef was thirteen, and he acted like your average nerd from District 3. He was always messing with different gadgets he had found in the trash when he was walking back from school. He was a bit mischievous as well, but luckily he hadn't done anything too bad. Yet...

Yeula was sixteen, conceived almost right after I had been born. Her birthday was coming up. We were close, and she shared most of the household responsibilities I had, but most of the work she did was inside the house. She was the reason our house was spotless.

My thoughts came back to the task at hand. Ardenna would be angry if I didn't come back in with enough wood for the whole night, so I went back to chopping wood with my trusty axe. Splinters stuck like burrs on my blue jeans, some falling onto my newly-bought snow boots.

The axe I held had been mine since I had been twelve. Urrel, that cunning motherfucker, had actually used some of his goofing-off money to buy me a present (but only because it had been "useful"). It was a cheap, iron axe, no bells and whistles, but so far it had lasted me five years. Another wood block fell under the might of my old friend, the axe.

The sun was starting to dip behind the horizon, and that's when I made my mind up to go back inside to my family. Well, the members I was allowed to call my family. Urrel had gone out to "do some errands," which probably consisted of going to the grocery store, getting drunk, and gambling at one of District 7's many hidden gambling dens.

I picked up three pieces of crudely-cut ash wood, careful not to stab any splinters through my threadbare gloves. A warm glow comes from the old window facing the backyard, a candle currently being lit by Yeula. She waves, and although I'm unable to wave back I smile for what I'm worth.

I make my way through the thick snow, kicking aside a stray basketball that Josef and Kalea never played with anymore. The door opened up wide, Kalea standing there with a cup of hot cocoa. I smiled again.

"Thanks, sis." I grinned, and she smiled. "Dad's not home yet, but dinner's almost ready." Typical Urrel.

"Don't worry about Dad, honey." I said, kneeling down to Kalea's level. "He'll be home eventually." I sighed, dropping the logs near the doorstep. Kalea frowned, giving me the cup of cocoa and crossing her arms.

"Why are you so hard on Dad? I know he's not the greatest, but..." Kalea's face fell. "I just hope it's not any of us this year.."

"Hey, don't think such negative thoughts," I said, looking down at her. "Last year we just had bad luck. Anna was a good tribute, but didn't have the best of luck..."

I thought back to the afternoon I had watched that "episode" of the Games:

_"And down goes Anna Garys, killed by her own District partner, who would've thought?"_

_I looked at Ardenna. "Why would he do such a thing? Doesn't he realize he isn't the only tribute left?"_

_"People do strange things when stressed." she replied._

_Later on, I got to see Rupert killed by his own arrogance._

_Kicked in the face by Missus Stressed-Relationship from District 3. Torn to bits by freaking piranhas.  
><em>

"And Rupert was an idiot." I muttered. Kalea sighed.

"Mom's waiting for you inside." she said. I nodded, putting the hot cocoa down on our flimsy table in the hallway and going back outside to get the rest of the wood. After three or so trips, the wood was stacked neatly (enough) right inside the door and I was halfway through my mug of cocoa.

"Where's Daddy?" yelled Miki, who was only 3 years old.

"He'll be home...eventually." Ardenna sighed. "Go back to sleep, Miki." Josef walked through the door way, fiddling with two pieces of metal. "Put those down and come to the table, Josef." Josef obeyed, and sat at his usual place.

Yeula and I sighed, bored out of our minds. We weren't supposed to go out in this weather, so we couldn't exactly go and see our friends. The 10-year old phone in the corner rang, shaking the small endtable it was on.

"I'll get it. It's probably Urrel." Sure enough, as soon as I picked it up I heard his gravelly voice.

"Whaddaya want, kid?" he slurred, obviously drunk.

"You called me, _Dad_."

"Now why would I do that?" He laughed. "I'm joking. I got something for you for Christmas." I perked up at bit. Usually he spent no money on the rest of the family.

"But...Christmas was a month ago, Dad."

"Yeah, so what. I didn't have the money then." I smiled. He was mellow today.

"Well...thanks, then." I heard him coughing on the other end.

"See ya later, kid." I hung up the phone, but as soon as I turned to go back to the table, it rang again. I sighed, then went to pick it up, expecting Urrel again. It wasn't.

"Hello?"

"Oh, hi, Alyssa." I smiled. Apparently I still would be able to talk to my friends.

I'd known Alyssa since I was very young, when Urrel wasn't as much of an asshole. She'd been more than a friend the past year or so, though...

"How's winter for you?"

"Not bad. Not looking forward to school, though." Alyssa laughed.

"Hey, at school you'll be able to see me again."

"Yeah, and Barkus."

"What do you have against him?" Barkus Anderssen and I had a bit of a rivalry, but it was nothing more than striving to achieve the girl we both loved. And that girl was leaning towards him.

"Nothing..." I muttered. I leaned against the doorframe.

"Hey, doofus." Yeula called. "How long are you gonna be on the phone?" I laughed.

"What?" Alyssa asked.

"Nothing...I have to go..."

"Oh...well, I'll see you in a month or so. Bye."

"Bye." I frowned, putting down the phone onto the hanger.

"Why, did you miss me when I was five feet away?" I looked at Yeula. She laughed.

"Whatever, Grant." I sighed, picking up my stuff and turning towards the hallway.

"And where are you going, Grant?" Ardenna asks.

"Not hungry." I mutter. The hallway is dark, and I have a hard time making my way around the mounds of toys and random clutter that has filled up the hallway over the years. I'm kind of excited that Urrel actually did something for me, but I doubt it's something useful.

I shut my door behind me, turning on my ten-year-old stereo and playing some glitch music. Currently it's the fad in District 1, but I like it myself. There's a certain riff to the music that I admire. I laugh. My family should be part of District 3.

I guess I get it from Urrel. Ardenna says he used to be quite the craftsman before...before he became an alcoholic and totally ruined his life. Sucks for him.

I lay back on my bed, staring at the slowly-growing art on the ceiling above my bed. At first it started out with a few doodles, but I've added more and more to it so that it's starting to seem like a monster ripping a hole into the roof, staring back at me.

That's probably why I don't allow any of the little ones into my room. They'd have nightmares. Among other reasons...

My room is small. The cramped space is taken up by the shelf on which my stereo resides, my dilapidated bookcase, my old bed, and the dresser. I try to remember how long I've had this room.

I laugh when I realize what room this used to be.

_"Hey, Dad."_

_"What?"_

_"Where's my stuff?"_

_"Moved it into your new room?"_

_"New room? I don't have to sleep in Yeula's room anymore?"_

_"Nope."_

_"Well, where is it?"_

_"Gimme a sec." Urrel grunts, taking a nail out of his mouth and nailing it into a board that he's using to make a toybox, for Josef._

_"It's the back room."_

_"Dad? The only room we have in the back is...oh." Urrel's beer storage room. I hated the stench of it, but I guess he had exhausted his supply of beer and decided that I need a new room. Great._

_The stench of beer didn't go away for months._

I sigh. That's probably the nicest thing Urrel's ever done for me. But I'll have to see what his present is. It could be even better than this room.

After all, I still sometimes find rat droppings on the floor. And this was where he stored his beer, too. Wonderful.

Turning the glitch music off, I decide I'm going to try and find Urrel. He's bound to be somewhere near the town square, and I could still use the pay phone in the square to call if I can't find him. Hell, I might even see Alyssa.

Don't get ahead of yourself, I thought.

I rush past the dinner table, totally ignoring whatever Ardenna chooses to say to me. Grabbing my jacket from the hook, I whack open the front door and step out into the frigid air of District 7.

The lamplighters have gotten to work early, and the whole street is illuminated in a warm orange glow. People walk swiftly past me, after all it is getting pretty late, and the pickpockets are bound to be out. I keep my hand on my wallet.

There's not too many people in the square, but I don't see anyone I have really gotten to know. I sigh. I don't exactly want to go on a bar crawl looking for Urrel.

But then I spot him, standing next to the giant television the Capitol brought three or so months ago. He's chatting with some of his buddies, probably other barflies. But when he sees me, he says goodbye and walks up to my position.

"Hey, Grant. Didn't expect to see you here." Well, I didn't expect to see him sober. Plus...is he wearing cologne?

"Hey...Dad. What's so special about tonight?"

"Ahhh, I don't know. I just felt like I needed to make it up to your mother for the way I've been acting the past few months." The past few years, I think.

"Yeah? Sounds nice."

"Don't get sarcastic with me, boy. I still have your present." For once, I'm genuinely interested.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"The present."

"Ha! Get that glitch music out of your head for a moment for a second and come over here and look!" He says, motioning to his stuff, which lies on a nearby table. I pause for a second. Urrel doesn't know I listen to glitch. Oh, whatever. Maybe he found one of my discs lying about.

He opens the suitcase lying on the table, and my mouth drops. This...this is better than the room he gave me. Better than the fucking hatchet. Better than everything he's ever done for me in his life.

"Wow..." I say, staring at the glitch keyboard in front of me. It even has a strap, so I don't have to put up my old, ratty stand to play it. I feel like a Capitol kid that's gotten a shotgun for Christmas. Or something like that. I'm not that good with expressions.

"You like it?" Urrel asks, smiling.

"Hell yes..." I mutter, picking it up and staring at the shiny grey finish. How the hell did he get the money for this?

"How the hell did you get the money for this?" I say, repeating my thoughts. Urrel laughs.

"Drinking beer isn't the only thing I do in District 7, Grant." he replies. Yeah, and fuck hookers, I almost reply, but I keep my mouth shut.

"Okay..." I still can't believe it.

"What about the others?"

"The others?"

"Dad. Your other children." Urrel laughs.

"Yeah, I got stuff for them, too. You'll just have to wait until later." He smiles. I laugh, a sincere laugh I haven't done in front of him for a very long time. Life is feeling pretty good right about now.

"I guess I need to test it out."

"Hell yes." Urrel smiles. Grinning, I power the keyboard up.

The keys vibrate with life, the small computer power supply humming on the bottom edge of the keyboard. I test it out, playing a few keys. I notice there's also a line of different glitch gadgets on the top edge of a keyboard, and there's a black wraith keytat spanning the top edge.

"Holy shit." I mutter. There is no way he made this money legitimately...and to think, what could he have gotten for my siblings? My mind is going crazy. This must be a dream.

For once, it isn't. That night, I go home with Urrel and he sits at the table with Ardenna, who I actually see smiling for once. Yeula and I laugh along with them. Inside, I'm screaming and jumping for joy. Despite the looming threat of the Reapings only a few months from now, I feel amazing.

It's like I've gotten a shot of Capitol adrenaline.

Giddy as hell, I talk with Yeula late into the night, and I spend an hour or so talking to Alyssa on the phone. I'm not sure why. I test out the glitch keyboard, playing a few select songs like _Raze_ and _Criss Cross_.

Urrel leaves at around midnight, and I feel a bit sad. I had assumed that he would actually assimilate back into our family. I guess I was wrong. But then he mentions that he's just going back to the apartment he's staying in to get his stuff. My spirits lift.

But I'm still a bit apprehensive about Urrel. Where in Panem did he get all this money?

I bid everyone good night and retire to my room. I'm out for the count before I even hit the pillow.

The next morning I wake up all groggy, taking a second to look at my old clock.

9:00 AM?

I'm late for school!

**Author's Note: Well, I hope you liked the first chapter. The next chapter is from Grant's point of view as well, but don't worry. I'll eventually show all the POVs so you can get accustomed to them. Hopefully I'll fill the tribute list soon...**

**On another note, here's our first sponsor question, and it's fairly easy:**

**Why is Finn Yang infamous?**

**Farewell! And see you next time.**


	5. The Victory Tour

**Author's Note: Well, all the characters are FINALLY filled up, and I even got a surprise visit from someone I did not even know had a fanfiction **** Well, here's another chapter from Grant, and he'll get to meet someone very important, another tribute, and get involved in an accident that will probably be on his conscious for quite a while.**

**The answer to the last SQ was "for killing most of the tributes in the bloodbath." I'll tally up sponsor points soon. Make sure to review to get points!  
><strong>

Alyssa laughed from somewhere down the hallway. I frowned, dropping my stuff off in the history room and walking slowly down the wind-blasted hallway. The doors at the end of the hall weren't put perfectly together, and wind escaped past them, literally freezing the inside of the school. What good the radiators did, I didn't know.

It's been seven days since Urrel brought me that glitch keyboard. It's still in perfect condition, sitting safely in the cabinet in my room. My life has uplifted immensely. I'm getting slightly better grades and my overall attitude is getting better. Nevertheless, I still have a little problem, and that's Alyssa.

Maybe I'm just being envious, but she's hanging around with Barkus a lot more often now.

I sigh. Now is not the time to be full of indecision.

The Reapings are in a month, and the Victory Tour is supposed to pass through District 7 today. I'm not sure what Heron Rockon is going to have to say. Apologize for killing Rupert? I honestly don't care about him. However, Anna was a nice person. But then again, Heron wasn't responsible for her death.

The Games are so damn confusing.

Tunes of a glitch song swirling around in my mind, I toss aside my scarf onto Mr. Delarius' podium, walking out into the freezing hallway.

Ice coats part of the floor near the lockers. The school isn't that small, but it isn't that large either. Students sift in and out of the frigid hallway, crossing from class to class. Period 5 is about to start, and then we have lunch. I have no idea why they make lunch so damn late.

Barkus is standing with Maple Trelop, some bitch that hangs out in the 'popular girls' clique, Alyssa, and Nhelan Croppes, a boy I barely know that has a reputation for being a bit of a pyromaniac. I have to wonder why Alyssa hangs out with these creeps.

"Hey, guys." I say, stepping up to the group. Alyssa turns my way, a bright smile on her face. Maple scowls, and Barkus looks slightly annoyed. Nhelan picks at his fingernails.

"Hi, Grant." Smiles Alyssa. I grin back, and then look up at Barkus.

"What are you guys doing?" I ask.

"Ah, nothing. Talking about how worthless the Capitol is." My eyes widen a little bit, glancing at the Peacekeeper at the end of the hallway.

"You think that's a good idea with…him," I say, nodding towards the Peacekeeper. "Standing at the end of the hallway?"

"Do I really give a shit?" Barkus replies, and I back off a bit.

"Sorry, just wondering. I would keep my hate thoughts to myself." Barkus laughs.

"Well, that's Grant Sobil, not Barkus Anderssen. I'm tired of all this censorship crap."

"Go write a complaint at the Town Hall, then."

"Only an idiot would do that. And the idiots are the ones that get beat to death by Peacekeepers." He shrugs. I smile weakly, knowing he's exactly right. The last rebellion, of the 74th Hunger Games, never got full circle. Even if there is some tension in some of the Districts right now, I know it's not enough to start a rebellion.

Not like I would want a rebellion…

The bell rings, and I know it's time to go to History of Panem class with Mr. Delarius. Unfortunately, I also have this class with Barkus and Maple. Alyssa waves us goodbye, and I don't even notice when Nhelan leaves. I trudge down the icy hallway towards Room 23, Marcia and Barkus walking silently behind me.

Marcia pulls out her lighter and lights a cigarette. Smoking is against the school rules, but it's not like anybody gives a shit anymore. The dilapidated school is far from its full potential.

Barkus is the last person to enter the classroom, shutting the door closed behind him. Mr. Delarius is an old, decrepit man, and the only reason he is still teaching is because we have a shortage of teachers in District 7.

Our History of Panem class is really small. It only consists of me, Barkus, Maple, some kid named Branche, and a girl named Hollow Azeman that sits in the back.

Branche is mute, and I never talk to him in the first place, and with his dark brown hair and grey eyes, he looks out of place in District 7. All he ever does is take down notes.

Hollow Azeman was a bit similar. She never talked except on rare occasions, and I noticed that she was very observant, and probably quite intelligent as well. She was a bit short, but slender, and had thick, pin straight, brown hair and hazel-green eyes.

While Mr. Delarius droned on, I doodled in my notebook, not really listening to most of the crap the Capitol wanted us to "learn" about Panem's past. It's not like I didn't hear about the Dark Days and the War during the Reapings speech every year.

Maple spat out her cigarette, stomping it into the ground as soon as it landed on the floor. Mr. Delarius, oblivious, continues on about the Battle of Capitol Pass.

The rest of the day passes on pretty uneventful. I try to talk to Alyssa at lunch, but Barkus pretty much bars me from the group. I sigh, I guess I'll never really be able to talk to her. Thinking about Mr. Delarius' speech, I figure I should be getting ready for the Reapings anyway.

Once again, I'm forgetting about the Victory Tour. It's going to pass through District 7 today, sometime in the afternoon. Periods 6 and 7 fly by quickly, and then I'm stuck in detention for coming to school late while everyone else gets to leave.

I sit in an empty hall, staring at the blank chalkboard on the opposite wall. Crushed pieces of chalk sit on the floor, an empty gust of wind blowing through the open double doors. Bored, I try to do my homework, but it's unsettling knowing the Victory Tour will arrive today. For half an hour, I stare at the wall, trying to think of something to do.

They let me out, finally, and I head straight home, hoping to play the keyboard at least a little bit before I have to dress up and go to the town square for the arrival of the victor.

The lights are off when I get home. Strange, I think. When I get inside, nobody is there, but I know the arrival isn't until two hours from now. I glance at the clock just to be sure.

I shrug off my jacket and hang it on the flimsy hook by the door, tugging my wallet out of the inside pocket. I notice Yeula in her room, reading, so I know I'm not home alone.

I slide past the clutter in the hallway through to my room, my cramped, wonderful room. The keyboard is still in the cabinet where I left it, and I pull it out and power it up, checking the battery level. It seems fine, so I key a few notes. I mess around with the gadgets, and I find there's a lot of glitches I can make with them. I smile. I actually do love my dad.

I practice for a bit longer, until Yeula comes into my room and teases me, and at that point I stop playing and pull out my homework, which I am still unable to do. I fucking hate history.

I sigh, staring at the random questions about past woman's rights and the Dark Days. It's all stupid shit I don't care much about. All I care about are my family, my friends, glitch music, and some other things I don't care to mention.

Locking the keyboard back in the cabinet, I throw my backpack onto the dresser and exit the room, humming a few glitch tunes to myself. I go to the washing machine and pull on a newly-cleaned dress shirt, not caring to change my pants. Heading out the door, I see that Yeula has already left, and I have no idea where the rest of my family is.

Pulling on my jacket, I slam the front door behind me, trying to shield my face from the cold wind at the same time. It seems to be getting more frigid every day.

I arrive at the square, and it seems most of the District is already here. I see Hollow and some other boy, I'm not sure of his name, talking in the area near the town hall. The doors are shut up, and the Reapings stage is set up, along with the large TV I saw yesterday. I notice Urrel near the front and push my way towards him.

"Hey, there you are. Your mother's been looking for you. Heron's about to come onstage."

"Okay," I mutter, scooting past him to get to Ardenna.

"Hey, Grant. I haven't seen you all day."

"Yeah. What's going on?"  
>"Well, they're setting up and the victor's going to come on the stage soon. The Garys' are up there now, but I have no idea where the Stevens family is." I laughed. Rupert's ghost would be disappointed.<p>

There's a sudden blast of music, and the doors to the town hall open. Heron Rockon walks in front, her long brown hair wrapped into a ponytail, obviously cut short while she was in the Capitol.

Behind her walks Xavier Jarr, the old mentor that taught her in the 99th Games. He looks tired, and I can't help thinking he's getting a bit too old for this stuff. Behind Xavier, there's Wellin Brooks, Heron's stylist, and Terran Berice, a silent escort who acts a bit like our old mentor, Frendare Yew.

Heron starts into some long speech about the history of Panem and her experience in the Hunger Games, and how she's sorry about the families' losses. I can tell it is all rehearsed, but it's not like she can just back out of saying the speech.

First, she talks to Anna's family, saying how sorry she was she wasn't able to do anything as Anna was speared by that giant fucking bird mutt in the arena. Then, she apologizes to Rupert's family. Well, if you could call it apologizing. More like trying to avoid insulting them.

Later on, I'm carting stuff in and out of the Town Hall because I just feel like being helpful. The Victory Tour wasn't much, just the generic crap they do every year. I'm still waiting for the exciting part.

Soon enough, I get lost wandering the long hallways of the Town Hall. It's very dark, and I can't see practically anything. I try using one of the light switches, but the lights seem to be broken.

I turn the corner when somebody bumps into me. I grunt and stumble backwards, trying not to drop the box I'm carrying. I hear a grunt from the other end of the box, and I call out:  
>"You okay?"<p>

"Uh, yeah..." It's a girl. No idea why some random girl is wandering the Town Hall. Wait. That's technically what I'm doing.

When I put down the box, I look around for some better source of light. Pulling out my lighter, I flick the catch and hold the flames up to my field of vision.

I recognize the girl as Heron Rockon.

"Oh...hi." I mutter. Heron stutters, then gets up on her feet.

"Um, sorry."

"No...it's okay. You need any help?"

"I _may_ be kind of lost."

"Well then you're no better than I am." Heron laughs, then her smile drops again.

"Do I know you?" she asks.

"Not really...seeing as how you're from District 3..."

"Um, yeah. Sorry. You just...remind me of someone..." At that, she gulps and then her eyes go blank. I guess that's an indication for me to start moving.

I pick up the box again and start moving throughout the hallway. I can hear Heron stumbling along behind me, because I had to put out the lighter to pick up the box. A few minutes later, we both end up the kitchen. Heron thanks me, and then quickly leaves.

I frown, putting down the box.

That was rather weird...

**Author's Note: If you didn't figure it out already, Grant Sobil is my character. Hollow Azeman was created by No Safe and Sound. I hope you guys like the chapter, and next chapter will be a bit longer, plus you'll get to see from someone else's POV :3**

**SQ: When was glitch music invented? (It's a factual question. Not hard at all).**


	6. Happy Birthday

**Author's Note: Okay, I'm going to stop being lazy and count up the sponsor points. Soon. But hey, at least I finished a new chapter. The answer to the last sponsor questions was "1990s," but all of you practically got it right, so what's the point **** This next question is going to be harder, though.**

**New POV! Introducing Emily Mellark, created by EnvyIsMySin…**

My sky-blue eyes dart back and forth, scanning the room in which the lights have just flashed on. I notice Uncle Irron, Aunt Pastier, and a few others, including dear old Dad and Mom. Streamers hang from the ceiling, the bare lights only partly brightening up the dark room. Glitter is on the floor.

"Happy birthday!" They shout, and I cringe, my head still hurting from the accident earlier. There's still a bit of caked blood on the hair behind my ear. I sigh, moving forward across the broken tile floor, and I see the meager pile of presents next to a small but hopeful birthday cake.

Today is my birthday, and I'm turning seventeen.

My father is Peeta Mellark, cake-maker extraordinaire and owner of the major bakery in town. My mother is Katniss Mellark, the real Mockingjay herself. I am the survivor of their two children.

You see, I had a little brother named Ryan. He was cute, and I loved him, but he ended up getting reaped for the Games last year. He made it to the ninth day, where he was struck down by a trap in the "Tour D'Endros." I don't know exactly what that name is supposed to mean, but it killed my brother and I hate the Capitol for it.

As my collective family chant 'Happy Birthday' I sit down in one of the dining table's wooden chairs, composing myself as everyone else grins widely. I can't help thinking of Ryan. I wring my hands under the table, and lean forwards to blow out the candles upon the cake. The words "Happy Birthday, Emily" stare back at me. I suck in a gust of air, and then proceed to blow out the candles. My family cheers.

The cake is okay, but the frosting is a bit too sugary and it tastes slightly acidy, as Dad has obviously used some chemical to make it stick, or stay stiff, or whatever.

I eat my cake glumly, sitting in the same wooden chair while Dad talks with his cousin, Irron, and my mother stares at the kitchen drawer. I know that's the drawer where the letter from the Capitol resides.

That letter was horrible to read. It talked about my brother doing 'heroic' acts and being absolutely magnificent in the Games, but I know that he died just for their entertainment. Sometimes, I still hear Mom crying in her room late at night, trying to just cry herself to sleep. I have my sleepless nights, too.

Wiping my dusty hands off on my jeans (I help out in the mines for a meager wage), I pull a hair band out of my pocket and pull my dark, almost black hair into a ponytail. Brushing aside a strand of stray hair, I walk over to the sink, dumping my plate and measly fork in. I turn on the sink, splashing a bit of water over the plate, not caring if the plate ended up clean or not. The din of the room is starting to hurt my ears, so I walk to the other side of the room towards my room. I climb the rickety stairs to my room, ignoring the squeaks of mice and the falling dust from the old wooden floor.

I pushed open the door to my room, literally falling unto the bed. I think this was the same bed that my mother and her sister, Prim, shared all those years ago, but I doubt it. Nothing lasts forever in District 12.

I stare up at the ceiling, which has a little bit of water stains and various marks from where something has hit the ceiling. It may not clean, but it's home. I stare up at the ceiling, thinking about Ryan. I loved my brother. Most siblings can say that, but it's not often true. In my case, I know it is.

At least if he had died defending someone, or if he had struck down a worthy opponent before he died, his death would have been slightly honorable. But no, he was struck down by a vicious trap suggested by some idiot in the Capitol. My eyes tear up.

"Why…" I mutter, hugging my pillow, biting my lip. I squinted my eyes closed, tears leaking from the small gaps between my eyelids and the bottom of my eyes.

I hug my legs close to my chest, pressing my breasts slightly back. I wring my hands again, huddled into a ball on top of my bed.

Later on, I wipe the tears away from my face and walk back down the corrugated metal stairs, this time ignoring the collected dust and spiderwebs.

When I get downstairs, practically every guest has left, leaving a small mess that won't take long to clean up. It's not like I have much else to do with my life.

My life consists of helping out at the mines, doing random chores, and taking long walks around the district. I have a lot of friends, but that's probably just because of my mother. She has a lot of influence.

The rest of the day consists of washing up various dishes and plates from around the house, and I have to go to the back where the old pasture used to be to hang up our dry cleaning. The grass back here is rather scruffy, and there's sand from some old sandbox or something near the back wall. There's an old chain rack where I know Aunt Prim's goat used to be.

Aunt Prim died when Mom was a teenager, killed during the short-lived rebellion, in the bombing of the Seam. Mom and Dad survived by hiding out in the basement, but Prim was with Grandma, and neither of them reached shelter in time.

Even though that didn't happen during my time, I still feel sad for Mom. She's had to witness her family falling apart over the years.

I hang up each piece of clothing I'm holding, one by one. I hang up various clothes from Dad, Mom, and I think some that are hand-me-downs from Aunt Prim's time. Once I've exhausted the supply of clothes, I head back inside, but I do not tug off my boots. I say farewell to my parents, intending to head over to the garage.

The garage that I am talking about is owned by Bolter Kallas. His dad was the mechanic for District 12, but after a certain accident Bolter took up the responsibilities of the garage. He's 20, I think. Just past the Reaping age.

Bolter has light brown shaggy hair, and a bit of a chin dusting. His eyes are bright blue, and he is sincerely one of the funniest guys I know. He's always getting jokes from some unknown source, and he always knows how to cheer me up. I haven't seen him that much since my brother died in the Games.

When I get to the garage, Bolter is hammering on a hubcap, I assume for some Capitol client. While our district is supposedly only coal mining, coal isn't the only mineral we find down in the mines. Copper, iron, and other materials are used for various Capitol needs.

There's a few other hubcaps lying next to the workbench he's standing at, and he stands there, a medium-sized hammer in his hand, smashing away at a piece of metal.

He's very focused on the job at hand, and at first I'm not sure if I should interrupt him or not. Eventually, I decide I want to talk to him, and walk through the open door into the garage.

He looks up as I walk into the garage, a small smile on his face. He stops the hammering.

"Hey, Emily." he sighs.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Too big of an order. Stupid Peacekeepers. The Reapings coming up. What more could I ask for?"

"Why do you care about the Reapings?"

"Because it's stupid as hell and I hate the Capitol." As soon as he says this, I glance around, hoping nobody has heard him.

"Are you insane? They have spies everywhere!"

"I'm tired of it, though. All these damn orders."

"Come on, Bolter. Keep your hopes up."

"Pfft. Why do Capitolites need all these hubcaps anyways?"

"I don't know. I don't know practically anything about the Capitol."

"Hah, well you will if you get reaped."

"Don't even. Don't joke about that, Bolter."

"Sorry, Emily." Bolter bites his lip, and continues to hammer on the hubcap.

"Doing anything Saturday?" I yell over the din. Bolter smiles, lowering the hammer once again.

"Maybe. Why?"

"If you're trying to play the sexy angle, it's not working."

"Who said I was?" I smiled.

"See you at the Rose, if you want to come." The Rose was a clearing near the square, a small park where people would sometimes hang out. I used to play on the playground there with Ryan when we were little. Thinking about it brings up memories, so I stop. I guess I just won't go near the playground. It's too late to retract my offer.

"See you there, then." Bolter smiles, and then continues to hammer on the sheet of metal. I smile, but he's too distracted by the big order he has to fill. Silently wishing him goodbye, I walk back out of the garage and into the square.

I decide to just take a walk around the district. District 12's dilapidated town square has few people walking around it, so I just decide to ignore it today.

I walk around the town square, passing by the town hall, noticing the rather large pile of trash and broken plywood in the back. There's a few garbage men milling around, and I walk away before I get too distracted.

Eventually, I come to a large, burned lot. I know from my mother that this place used to be called The Hob, and it was a large marketplace, although it was known for being more of a black market.

There's old, blackened, rotting wood littered all over the place, and sooty snow covers the ruins of what seems to be an old warehouse. I walk over to the nearest pile of trash, and I pick up an old doll. Its face paint is chipped, and both of its arms are missing, and I feel kind of horrible just looking at it. It's a reminder of a broken age.

I feel sick, and I put down the doll. I look forward, and I realize there's mounds and mounds of trash, all broken DVDs, meat crates, broken machinery, and children's toys. I gulp, staring at the massive pain and sorrow of the past before me. This is why I hate the Capitol.

I walk through the remains of the Hub, staring at the various vendor's booths that have been hacked apart, scavenged for wood and burned because of hate. On one piece of broken word, the word "Sue" is inscribed, and I don't know who this board could have belonged to.

I kick around some ash, and I then sit down on what looks like an old car seat. I sit down and cry. Cry harder than I think I ever have before. My eyes are just releasing half a year's worth of terror and pain and sadness. For a good three minutes, I sit there sobbing into my hands. I wipe my nose, looking up at the darkening sky, my eyes reddened.

"Why world, why..." I mutter, biting my lip. I kick my foot forwards, sending a red basketball forwards. I cradle my head in my hands.

After a few more minutes, I manage to compose myself. I decide to visit the Rose before I go home.

The walk there is pretty short, as I know my way around the district. When I get to the Rose, I sit on the bench in the center of the park, looking at the assortment of roses around the bench. It's getting dim, and the sun is setting.

I don't care much, my parents aren't expecting me home for a while. I walk over to one of the flowers, picking a small rose that has minor thorns on it. I pinch them off, trying not to injure the tips of my fingers too much.

I end up putting the flower in my pocket. Pressing flowers has become a hobby of mine.

My glance keeps shifting to the playground, and I decide it's time for me to leave. I compose myself once more, wiping away the remains of the tears from my eyes, and then I make my way home, ignoring the square, the Hob, the garage, and everything else.

I walk in the door, hanging my jacket on the coat hook.

"Honey, everything all right?" Mom calls from the kitchen.

"Yeah. I think I may be better now."

**Author's Note: Well, that was Emily Mellark, created for my last story, and I didn't end up using her. Yay, she gets to go in these Games! I'm sure she's very happy.**

**SPONSOR QUESTION: According to my canon, where does Gale live? (Haha, you're going to look forever).**


	7. Alcohol and Broken Rules

**Author's Note: I have to thank Petemidnight for thinking up all of those traps and various mutts, but I forgot to remove that section from the sponsor points :/ I'm still going to use a few of your ideas, but you're not going to get 10 million points.**

**AGH I'M FINALLY COUNTING UP THE POINTS.**

**The answer to the last sponsor question was "District 2."**

**Now, for our third POV character…**

Hanger Serra sat at the table in front of me. There was a martini in his hand, a small cherry impaled on a toothpick that rested halfway onto the bottom of the glass. There's a bit of frost on the end, probably frozen into the rim by the same bartender that gave him that glass.

He sips on some chilled, reddish liquid, maybe some sort of sherry. I don't know about any of the concoctions the Capitol has nowadays. Hanger sips on his drink, staring out the slightly frosted (like his glass) windows of the train.

I don't remember the name of the train, but it's been a pretty prominent figure in my life the last few weeks. It has led me around Panem, going from district to district, forcing me to tell these speeches about how wonderful my fellow tributes were. Forcing me to tell lies.

I'm serious. Some of them were complete assholes.

I'm not sure what to make of my victory. I didn't want to win. I never wanted to go into the Games. I had wanted to stay in District 3 with my normal life, my mediocre grades, and my amazing friends. But now, Ryder is dead, struck down by a tree. And I'm not sure Hinder will want to talk to me, seeing as how I blindly confessed my love for Ryder in the Games.

The Victory Tour is practically over by now. I've just finished with District 1, and I'm glad that I'm done with almost all of the Districts. I'm supposed to be headed towards the Capitol, where we have a lot of things scheduled. I have some sort of interview with Caesar Flickerman himself, and afterwards I'm going to be led to the Snow Mansion to endure a banquet of some sort.

Finally, after everything is done in the Capitol, I'm able to go home. I'm able to go back to District 3, where I will attend ANOTHER banquet, and then move into a house in District 3's Victor's Village. I'll probably be living right next to Hanger.

Hanger is okay, but he's rather ruthless. I've heard stories about his Games (I can't remember what year), where he impaled the last tribute on a makeshift spear he had made from the trees in the arena and a sharp rock, along with some twine sent by a sponsor. He had dug a pit and lured the other tribute in, and that's when he had made his kill.

Kill. I'm not very fond of that word anymore. Although it is not like I ever was.

Kill. The word the Hunger Games were founded on. The Capitol makes me sick.

The Games had been started by the Capitol (it was called Denver or something back then) to reduce rebellion after what was known as "Global Warming," where some ice up north melted and flooded Panem (I don't remember what it was called back then). Denver set up a series of Districts, it being Number One and the rest counting down to fifteen. Eventually, Denver became so powerful that it took the name of the Capitol and reigned over the other districts. That was when the Dark Days happened.

Not many people talk about that far in Panem's past. There was too much to be done in the lovely year of 2124.

The train rattled onwards, making small thumps every time I went past a dip or a small rise in the tracks. The train ran on magnetic tracks, so it wasn't like the old days where a small divot in the train tracks could derail a whole locomotive.

Hanger finishes his martini, placing the fragile glass down onto the fancily adorned table. His grey eyes turn towards me, staring deep into my facial expression.

"So, Heron," he says, picking at his fingernails with a pocketknife he has pulled out of practically nowhere. "Are you ready for the Capitol?"

"I'm not sure…" I reply, sitting down at one of the chairs in front of the table. It has a velvet backing and there are small scratches in the wood backing, possibly previous victors trying to make their mark on future tributes. But then again, that would mean this train has been around for a long time. I don't like the feel of that.

When we left District 1, there were trees, bushes, and various rocks and ponds flashing by outside the train windows, but now I could see small buildings and businesses along the train tracks, and I know we have reached the outskirts of the Capitol.

I'm not happy. Being rushed around the Capitol isn't exactly exciting. Plus, I remember, before I even go to the banquet, I have an appointment with Fulcher Morris, the Head Gamemaker this year. He's this nervous, jumpy man, but apparently he has some "big" ideas for the upcoming Games that I am supposed to see.

When we arrive at the Capitol, I exit the train, Hanger right behind me. I shiver, my thin dress not exactly protecting me from the winter wind. Capitol people shove forwards, trying to touch me, say something to me, or hug me. I shy away from their groping hands.

The "entourage" of Peacekeepers lead me to a tower to the west of the train station, which is called The Gamemaker's Tower. The lobby is practically empty…maybe they're on winter break? I don't know what kind of holidays the Capitolites have. I am led to an elevator, a dark, shiny one unlike the elevator in the Training Center. Peacekeepers surround me, and the elevator begins to rise.

Hanger taps his finger on the small railing along the left side of the elevator, humming a tune to a song that I don't know. The elevator dings every time we pass a floor, and it's starting to get a little annoying when we arrive on the 13th floor.

Fulcher was very jittery, just like I had heard. He shows me these blueprints for various traps that will be "featured" in this year's Games, and scattered schematics for bombs, spikes, and other instruments of horror. I gulp and try to keep down my lunch.

Next, I am "honored" with a tour of the facilities on the seventh floor. Near the end of the tour, I end up at a mutt holding cell. Inside there's a large gull with a long, spear-like beak, and it's flying all over the cell, slamming into the shatterproof windows. Hanger whistles, and Fulcher begins to explain the development of this particular mutt, which he calls a "Speargull."

The developers in the adjacent room send in a goat, chained to a small trolley that they send rolling into the room. The goat is dragged along.

"What are they doing?" I ask, a bit horrified.

"Ahh, I remember this…" Hanger smiles, rubbing his hands together.

The goat bleats, terrified. The gull opens its beak, letting out something between a roar and a caw. The goat tries to run, its stubby feet carrying it to the very edge of the cell. I look away as the gull rushes forwards, spearing the goat through the stomach. The gull rips out its intestines and begins to gobble them down, and I feel a bit queasy. Hanger looks down, and I can't tell what he's thinking.

"I would think it is time to move along

on the tour." He says, glancing at me again. If he's helping me, I silently thank him.

The rest of the tour is less violent, and we end up back in the lobby after taking some other elevator down. The Peacekeepers rejoin our cause.

The Peacekeepers escort me back to the train, and I have a vague feeling this is going to be happening the rest of the day. In less than five minutes, everybody is back on board the train and I'm stuck back in my cabin with Hanger and the rest of my crew.

Hanger smokes one of his cigars, pulling it out of a small cigar box he has in his pack.

"You ready for the interview?"

"Not really. I'm not that enthusiastic about the Games, even if they are already over."

"Why not?"

"Why the hell do you think?" Hanger grins, smashing the end of his cigar into a stub. Immediately, he pulls another one out of the same cigar box.

"Let me guess. The Games scared you. They scared you greatly. Now, you're afraid of anything having to do with the Games, adding onto the fact that you lost a loved one," He said, shoving the end of cigar into the corner of his mouth. I cringed. "Now, you want to save anyone you can from the Games, seeing as you will have to mentor two tributes soon enough." I closed my eyes. He was spot-on.

"Whatever floats your boat…" I glanced out the window, and noticed we were arriving at the Training Center. It was almost time for my interview with Caesar. I twisted my fingers, anticipating the various questions he would ask me about my violent experiences in the arena. I pulled on my jacket, ready to exit from the steel freight train.

Soon enough, Hanger lead me off onto the station floor, Peacekeepers in tow. I glanced at the various Capitol people in the station, but they all seemed to be chatting about some new dress that was released by Capitol Couture.

I rubbed my hands together, ignoring the chafing of my dress on various spots around my legs and arms. The cold winter air blew through my hair, sending it every which way.

Five minutes later, I was being splattered with makeup and my hair was being cut, pulled back into various hairstyles that would make the people back in District 3 cringe. My stylist pulls a few knots out, and it pains me to the point where I feel like they're ripping out my hair at the roots. Powder is pressed against my face, lipstick pressed against my lips, and my eyelashes brushed with makeup. I cringe as they scrub every last bit of dirt off of my body.

My frame is put into a very expensive golden dress. My heels are shoved into matching golden high heels, and my hair is tied into an elaborate ponytail and swung behind my back. I am lifted up out of the stylist's chair and my heels click on the floor as I'm led out, once again, to the arena. An overwhelming feeling of déjà vu washes over me.

First, my stylist, mentor, escort, and prep team go up the elevator, lifting them up to Caesar Flickerman. Finally, it is my turn to ride up into Caesar's domain, and I step tentatively onto the elevator. Lights flash abundantly, and I'm almost blinded by the bright neon blue and yellow lights that make patterns on the styled floor.

Caesar beckons for me to sit down next to him, and I nervously park myself on the edge of the red couch.

During the whole thing, I can't exactly focus. Caesar asks what I consider random questions and shows shots from the arena, sometimes even things I haven't seen myself: Ruby being torn into by mutts, Ryan getting speared through the throat, Bea slowly dying from blood loss, and various other tributes being killed. Then he shows the end of the Games: the point where I kicked Rupert ruthlessly in the face until he fell into the river, the piranhas swarming over him and chewing at his flesh, killing him. I'm huddled into a ball on screen, and I feel like doing so now. Bile rises in the back of my throat, and my arms clench up and I feel like clocking Caesar in the face. But I don't.

Caesar continues to ask questions, and I feel the alcohol that Hanger gave me on the train swishing around in my stomach. The new questions swirl throughout my thoughts, but that's not the main thing I'm focused on. My thoughts are focused on Ryder.

I can't stop thinking about how I failed to save him, and I start crying. Crying relentlessly, in front of a nation of over a million people. The Capitolites in the front row look confused, and Caesar bites his lip. I'm huddled off of the stage, and my prep team swarms over me like a bunch of angry bees. I feel like throwing up, but I just swing my head from side to side, trying to clear my thoughts. My head falls back down on the pillow of some cot that they put me on. My stylist looks worried.

In the corner of my eye, I see Hanger laughing. He's holding the same bottle of alcohol that I saw him with on the train.

"Girl can't hold her alcohol," He laughs, and my vision fades to black.

**Author's Note: Someone doesn't know how to update. But I have the sponsor points added up! And they'll be up around tomorrow. Don't forget to review. And pity me.**

**Sponsor Question: x + 8 = 9**** squared ****(It's easy, I know)**

**ANOTHER NOTE: I've been trying to post this chapter for about a week and a half, and it really seems to be having problems. Fanfiction hates me for not counting up sponsor points.  
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	8. The Quarter Quell

**Chapter Eight: The Quarter Quell**

**Sponsor Question: 73.**

**Author's Note: Well, I counted up the sponsor points and managed to get past that last chapter (I have bad cases of writer's ****block), and I started adding titles! The sponsor points are at the bottom of Chapter 2: The Sponsors. Anyways, here is **_**another**_** new POV, Tequi "Duke" Geneas, and his view on the Quarter Quell.**

The name's Duke. Technically, it's Tequillo Dutch Geneas, but I just like to be called Duke. It's simple enough, and doesn't require a mouthful of words for someone to say.

I kick a littered piece of newspaper aside, and it tumbles down the side of District 6's sloping square, down towards the old stocks. A heap of rotting wood resides there, and the crumpled up newspaper bumps into it, dislodging a stick.

I hug my Dad's old leather jacket closely, the cold wind blowing past me. The square is practically empty, devoid of all the evil personalities I hate, all the murderous, thieving people of the slums who beg for money for morphine. I hate them.

I never really cared much for people, anyways. I'm an orphan, you see. My dad died in a robbery at a medicine store, and next thing I know, my mother committed suicide with rat poison from that very store. District 6's medicine sucks.

The large clock tower in front of me rings out, chiming multiple times and racking my eardrums back and forth as it happens. I cringe, covering my ears at the bells chime four times, and then suddenly stop with the quickness of a rabbit on steroids.

As the ringing of the bells echo across the town square, I start walking down the street behind me, towards my current residence: an orphanage known as Dawnfurth Orphanage, a bleak place filled with old crones slowing destroying the lives of youngsters and teenagers like me. I hate the place, but there's nothing I can do about it.

The trash in front of the orphanage comes into view, along with a few kids playing inside the gate with a broken piece of PVC pipe. Oh, poverty.

I couldn't care less for District 6. I couldn't care less for the Capitol. Hell, I couldn't care less for my parents, as they're just a bunch of idiots for leaving me behind with absolutely no funds to help me along in life. My uncle even abandoned me, leaving me behind for the Capitol.

Walking in the gate, I know I have to meet up with some of my friends, because the Quarter Quell is supposed to be announced in thirty minutes.

I share a room with Jason A. Dict, who is a severe morphling addict and gets extra money from medicine experiments he participates in. Currently, he has a large gash on his left arm that regularly oozes some dark liquid that he seeps up with medical patches. It's absolutely disgusting, but it's the only way he's managed to get money.

Jason motions for me as I come down the hallway, absentmindedly chewing on an old sandwich and wrapping a piece of gauze around his arm.

"C'mon, man, while you're eating?" I say. He laughs, tossing what's left of the sandwich towards our garbage bin and jumping a pile of trash into our room. I hawk a loogie and spit into the trash bin, and then follow him in.

The room is rather small and cramped, but at least we have a television, a small luxury that the orphanage decided to give the kids. I can hear little ones running down the hallways, screaming and shrieking with whatever new toys they've found. I brush my golden brown hair back, my striking green eyes searching the room for the remote for the crappy old TV. Jason brushes some drug paraphernalia off of his bed and lies down, flicking old bread crumbs past his pillow.

Eileen Fowler leans her head in the door, her long blonde hair falling down past the doorknob as she raps on the door.

"Yo, Dict." She says, nodding at my half-high roommate, who is still concentrated on flicking the bread crumbs.

"Hey, Duke." She mutters, walking tensely around the piles of clothes and discarded wrappers. "You guys need a house makeover."

"Like your room looks any better." I scoff, throwing aside more clothes, looking for that damn remote.

Eileen is about my age, 16, and has bright, shining blue eyes that go wonderfully with her blonde hair. I would've easily fallen for her, except for the fact that she's practically my sister. In fact, I haven't really seen anybody hit on her. She's a gem.

Eileen sits down on our only chair, pulling the remote out from the crook in the wall.

"Looking for this?" she says, teasingly.

"Oh, give it up," I grin, reaching for it, but she holds it out of reach. I lunge forwards, and my feet shift on the piles of laundry, and my chin slams into the edge of the chair arm before I fall and smack my face on the tiled floor.

"Fuck!" I exclaim, blood streaming from my mouth as I spit part of a tooth on the ground. Eileen bursts out laughing and Jason looks over and grins.

"Even I'm not that stupid." Jason slurs, almost falling out of the bed.

"Oh, shut up, you addict." I smile through bloody teeth. I pull myself up from the floor, and feel my teeth with my tongue. Part of one of my front teeth is chipped.

"God dammit." I mutter, taking the remote from Eileen and switching on the television. President Snow's young face is displayed on the screen, and a reporter begins to talk about speculation about the 100th Games. Small tag lines ran along the bottom, from "Coriolanus or Adrian Snow? Two Cousins Stuck With the Office," to "Fish Blockade in District Four." I thought about the first one. Coriolanus had suffered a heart attack during the 89th Games, and Adrian had taken over. Coriolanus disappeared off the face of Panem, and Adrian died during the 99th Games, and now Annabelle is our President, although we haven't seen much of her yet.

I don't even care about the fish blockade. I never even eat fish.

The reporter continues on about the 100th Games, and about how the Victory Tour is drawing to an end and how the theme for the Fourth Quarter Quell is going to be announced soon. The bulletin goes on for about another three minutes, but then it is interrupted by the Capitol seal, and the image of the Center Stage in the Capitol.

In the front is Annabelle Snow, standing in a snow-white pristine suit. Some guy named Fulcher (apparently he's the Head Gamemaker) stands next to her, along with two other Gamemakers: Chivera Raelix and Jessica Black. On the edge of the stage I can see Heron Rockon standing awkwardly, along with some other victor from District 1.

The signal on our TV fades a little bit, but then returns with the energy of a two-year-old.

"To the Twelve Districts of Panem...the Fourth Quarter Quell has started. Celebration and joy is everywhere, as we have made it one hundred years with no falter or other incidences." Annabelle glances over to the side of the stage. A teenage boy in a uniform rushes forwards, his hat practically falling off as he struggles with a large box. He arrives in front of Annabelle, who pulls out a clean, pristine card marked "100."

"For the Fourth Quarter Quell," Annabelle pauses for dramatic effect. "In order to symbolize that all rebels will be treated the same and with fairness, the Games will be held on a research facility, the rules will be drastically changed, and after two weeks...the remaining tributes will be released. But beware, as danger is much more imminent than previous Games, and that the facility's projects will be allowed to run loose."

Jason and I stare at the television, dumbstruck. It's rather hard to sink in, to think that there will be more than one victor. Immediately I guess it's a ruse by the Capitol, but there's no way of knowing. But then I realize that Annabelle isn't done.

"This research facility was owned by District Thirteen. Is owned by District Thirteen. And since District Thirteen have declined to make an appearance for the last ninety-nine games and are definitely rebels themselves, they are to be included in this year's Games.

The teenager holding the box drops it, sprinting off the stage in a bizarre display of anger. He throws a wild punch at a Peacekeeper and keeps running, and the camera follows him. Eventually, enough Peacekeepers arrive to hold him down and bring him back to the stage. As I watch, a girl is brought from the audience up onto the stage.

Annabelle announces the boy as Mim Quazi, an apparent District Thirteen spy. His hair is a reddish tone and his eyes are a deep amber color. He looks rather animated and his eyes flutter back and forth, eyeballing the audience.

The girl is Vellia Dachben, also apparently from District Thirteen. Her hair is a light brown and her eyes are green, a bit similar to mine. She looks about my age, as well. She struggles against the Peacekeepers holding her, but she doesn't look half-crazy like her counterpart.

I wonder how the boy managed to get onto the stage in the first place. I mean, what was the point? Being a spy?

And plus, since when is District Thirteen still around?

"Despite what the public may believe, District Thirteen still exists in small pockets throughout Panem." Fulcher says, taking the microphone. "The Glade is one of these places. It is where the Fourth Quarter Quell will be held." He nods and hands it back to Annabelle.

"Thank you." Annabelle sneers, before taking back the microphone.

"If you have any more questions, you are free to ask your District mayor. They will have further information. That is all." With that, a bunch of reporters swarm the people on the stage, and Eileen turns the television off.

"What the fuck." Jason says, reading my mind.

"I agree. Why is it so complicated? And what's this dealie with District Thirteen?" Eileen mutters.

"I don't know, and frankly I don't have much of an opinion. As long as they don't do anything to worsen the Reapings. Then again, the whole two week thing..."

"Dude. It's a freaking science facility. Some old canyon thing they supposedly bombed back in the Dark Days. No doubt mutts will be swarming over that place."

"How do you know so much?"

Jason laughs. "You don't know about the Glade?"

"No..."

"It's some old District Thirteen facility, with a whole lumber mill and a science facility. The place is a train wreck, filled with piles of junk and a bunch of decrepit towers that soar over the place. There's even a little cove, but I doubt the tributes will be catching any fish there."

"And the people from District Thirteen were still there?"

"Apparently."

"Stupid, if you ask me."

"Well, I'm not." Jason grins. Eileen sighs, throwing the remote at him. He catches it in midair, grinning like a maniac. "Well, if you two could leave, that would be appreciated. I'm gonna do...stuff."

I sigh, knowing he's going to get his morphling fix again.

"C'mon, Eileen, let's go." I mutter, and she smiles, following.

"Don't feel sorry for him," she whispers. "He's your friend. It's not exactly his fault that he's an addict. If you have to blame somebody, blame the Capitol."

"I already do." I smile, glancing back at Jason. He's not paying any attention.

"Well, let's go, then." Eileen leans out the door, checks the hallway, and then walks out, leaving me with a smile on my face and a lingering sense of romance.

Hell, who cares about romance.

I follow Eileen out the door with the stupid smile plastered on my face until we get to the common room. A blast of jazz music comes out of the small stereo in the corner, operated by Connor Bering. His twin, Heath, sits on the couch, reading a book. Lisa Appleton and Rick Testone talk together at the old card table in the corner. Derrick Dict, Jason's little brother, plays with a toy train in the middle of the rug.

Eileen smiles.

"Yo, Duke." Connor says, bumping knuckles with me. "Did you see that shit on the TV?"

"Hell, yeah. Don't get that District Thirteen crap, though." I try to ignore the drivel spewing out of my mouth. Everyone's IQ seems to drop 20 points while being around Connor.

"Did you see that dude sprint? Fast as a lion." Connor grins. Eileen snickers.

"Cheetah, you doofus."

"Oh...yeah." Connor bites his lip. "Heath, can you help me with this?" Heath looks up.

"Guess that's our signal..." Eileen grins.

"Oh, shut up, Eileen." Connor looks over his shoulder, then goes back to work with the stereo.

I glance over at Derrick, who is slamming two toy trucks together. Cute.

Eileen goes over to talk with Lisa and Rick, so I guess that's my cue to leave.

I exit the orphanage the same way I came in, my mind brewing over the Capitol broadcast. Everywhere, District 6 citizens seem to be talking about it. Every shopper is talking to their clerk, every beggar talking to passerby, every couple talking amongst themselves. It's like one idea – once it spreads, it can't be stopped.

I arrive at the candy shop, looking in towards the many sweets that I can't afford. I notice two candies right next to each other – a milk chocolate drop and an orange drop. That makes me think of the two rebels on the Capitol stage, Mim and Vellia.

Something about Vellia's face as she was brought up to the stage caught my eye. I didn't know what it was, but she looked extremely angry. I don't know exactly what to think.

"Hey, orphan!" Someone calls from behind me. I turn around to see Wexley Dorphin laughing, with Tyrone Tymen standing awkwardly next to him, just shaking his head.

"See ya at the Reapings, shithead!" Wexley calls, sticking his pierced tongue out at me. Tyrone chuckles.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, Wexley." I mutter, glancing back at the candy shop.

"That's what your mom said last night!" He calls, and I clench my fists.

"My mom is dead, you fuck!"

"Yeah, and?"

I scowl, turning to ignore him. I have to deal with this kind of stuff every day, so I might as well ignore it.

Might as well prepare for the reapings.

**Author's Note: Agh, that cursing. Oh well, sometimes I have to use it. I took a bit too long on the end of this chapter, I don't know why. Tell me if you like Duke!**

**No sponsor question, sorry.**


	9. A Lonesome Road

**Chapter Nine: A Lonesome Road**

_Astrex Monsoon_

**Author's Note: Our fifth POV is revealed this chapter, and I've put the POV's name under the chapter title. We're getting really close to the Reapings, and then we'll be on our way to the Capitol. I don't usually complain, but you guys have been lacking a bit in faith/reviews/any responses lately :D Just tell me how you feel about the chapter. Or not.**

I crack my knuckles, staring down at the wide expanse of muddy brown farmland from my vantage point – a lengthy, tall, leafy branch that tilted slightly from a large, formidable oak on the edge of the property. Leaves swirled around my perch, some getting stuck in my hair, some falling down to the road below and passing by children as they squelch through the mud.

My name is Astrex Monsoon. I'm a resident of the dilapidated District Eleven, home to immigrants, orphans, and the dark-skinned. I glance at the darkies passing below me, playing with musty old soccer balls and laughing. I don't care for them.

I myself am white. Probably one of the only white people in Eleven, but I don't really care for my record holding. I rest my head on my arm, glancing at the small scars along my pale arm. Results from fights. They look wonderful.

The darkies continue to talk loudly from below, and I feel like yelling at them to shut up, but I know that would reveal my position.

I run my hands through my long black hair, thinking about the events of the past few days. Sure, there was the announcement for the Quarter Quell (which didn't really mean much to me), and there were quite a few whippings that I had been happy to attend and watch. But that's not what I was focused on.

I was focused on the fire that I had set a few minutes ago at one of the plantation houses. So far, everything looked normal. But there was a hint of smoke coming out of the windows on the southern end of the house. Nobody seemed to notice it.

Small bits of sawdust drifted into my blue eyes. I squinted, rubbing them with the back of my hand. When I opened them up again, I saw the fire leaching the back of the house. I grinned.

"More of a show for me." I smiled, leaning back against the trunk of the tree. My black shorts rubbed against the branch, cutting off small bits of bark that fell to the road below. I gazed at the steadily growing fire, smiling wide.

I've always thought of myself as a trouble child. After eighteen years in District Eleven, most people can say they know me and the various problems I've caused. But I don't care much. In fact, I've considered going into the Hunger Games and causing mayhem. Many people might agree that's the best place to go with my "skills."

I laugh, a loud maniacal laugh. It's fun being half-crazy.

I glance at my old, rusting watch, and realize I have to be at the fields in an hour for my job. I hate working, but it's practically the only way I make money.

The darkies on the road below me are starting to notice the fire. Brent Flora, a tall, mediocre-looking guy I know from my job, calls out "Fire!" A few darkies sprint past the tree, in the direction of the firehouse. This just keeps getting better and better.

My hands clench against the branch as I feel the whole tree shake. A man with a cart runs by, in the opposite direction of the fire, his hands tightly clutching onto the cart. In the cart is a television, with a small bit of ash dusting it.

I laugh, realizing the man is a looter.

He looks up nervously, then continues on his way.

A few more people run along the road, calling for help. I decide it is time to get out of the tree, and I begin to climb out. Surely, I think, nobody saw me set the fire.

Then I decide that I want to go back to the plantation house. They say arsonists always return to the scene of the crime, but I don't really care. I want to see how much damage I caused the rich people this time.

There's really only two parts of District Eleven: the barons (what I call the rich people) and the darkies. I guess I'm somewhere in between. I'm definitely not a darkie, but my family isn't what you'd call rich, either. We have a little money, but not enough to go on a spending spree with.

Not like I really care. I've never been the type of girl that loves splurging on dresses and the like.

I walk down the dirt road towards the plantation, my dirty bare feet squelching in the wetted mud. My hair hangs down into my face, and I don't really feel like pushing it to the side. I just walk up the old dirty road towards the slowly burning plantation house, a lock of hair hanging in front of my left eye.

A man with a crutch hobbles in the opposite direction, a look of fear on his face. I wonder why, and I am presented with the sound of a bullhorn somewhere ahead. Curious, I keep walking forwards. A few more darkies run past me, and I notice none of them are carrying any loot. It's almost like they're running in fear. But of what?

I walk through the gate into the courtyard. The smell of smoke is in the air, and I can hear burning wood and things breaking inside the building. Somewhere, a man is shouting into the bullhorn, but I can't exactly make out what he's saying because of the loud commotion.

That's when I first hear the shots.

Peacekeepers are the first thing I think of. There's more shots, and I hear a child screaming. My face turns to one of horror, and I turn to run back through the gate. There's two Peacekeepers standing there.

"Stop or I'll shoot your fucking head off!" The one on the left screams, who is a bit younger than his counterpart, and is holding his gun shakily. My eyes widened.

There was a pathway deeper into the plantation house near where I was standing, and without a second thought, I dove into the entrance. The Peacekeeper's gun went off a few times, and I had a fleeting glimpse of one of the darkies slamming into him as he tried to get past the young Peacekeeper.

I sprinted down the pathway, ignoring the cries of pain and the sounds of fiery chaos as the buildings around me started to collapse as the pillars holding the ceilings up were being eaten away by the inferno. Behind me, a blast of glass flew outwards as the second floor of the workshop fell apart, crushing whoever happened to be inside at the time.

To the left appears to be the main part of the plantation house, and the place where I set the fire. In front of me, a wall breaks off from the workshop and slams into the ground, blocking my path.

"Fuck!" I yell.

"Hey, stop!" I hear someone from behind me. Immediately I know it's the Peacekeeper from the gate. I make another stupid, split-second decision and jump into the main building.

Fire burns all around me, flaming planks and pieces of masonry fall down around me as the building shakes from another explosion.

"That's the kitchen!" A darkie yells from in front of me. He hasn't seen me yet, so I turn to the left, jump over a corpse, and run up the stairs. The darkie sees me.

"Where the fuck are you going? The whole damn upper floor's on fire!" I lose sight of him as the roof above the stairs starts to collapse. I jump up the last few steps and dive onto the landing, barely avoiding the ton of debris comes tumbling down onto the stairs. In front of me there's two doors, but the right is on fire. I take the left one.

It's a little girl's room, clothes spread all over the floor and the mirror smashed. The place has already been half-looted. I guess that's what the darkies were doing before the Peacekeepers came. Well, assuming it was the darkies.

A large wood beam comes crashing down through the ceiling, decimating the wool-carpeted floor in front of me. Splinters and chips of wood fly everywhere, and I'm knocked off my feet as fire flares up out of the gap the beam created. I jump back up to my feet, glancing at the gap. Composing myself one last time, I take a leap.

I barely make it, my feet landing on the very edge of the other side. I swing my arms and almost topple backwards, but I manage to get my balance. Fire rages all around me as I rush through the doorway, coming out onto a balcony that oversees the courtyard. On my left, the workshop collapses into rubble, crushing a few escaping people beneath it.

"Fuck me!" I shout, leaping over the banister towards the small building in front of me, possibly a garage. I crash through the roof, pieces of shingles and wood crashing down all around me as I bounce off the car and land on the concrete floor. I can hear my ribs cracking as my chest smashes into the floor, my arms flailing out in front of me. I hear a slight pop in my shoulder as my arm skids along the ground.

I manage to get to my feet, my arm hanging a bit limply as it screams with pain. I've probably popped my arm out of my socket, but that's not something to worry about now. The fire hasn't gotten to this building yet, but it will soon enough. I stumble along next to the car, hoping that the door is unlocked. Luckily, it is, and the stupid plantation owner has left the keys in his truck. Thank God.

I turn the key as a few bricks come tumbling down through the flimsy, broken ceiling, landing on the hood of the car. The engine stalls, and I scream in frustration, slamming my hands into the dashboard. By some miracle of life (or maybe it was just my anger), the car starts and the headlights brighten to life. I slam my foot onto the accelerator, and the truck shoots out of the garage as it collapses around me.

"What the hell did I do…" I mutter as I hear the plantation house crumble into a pile of rubble, probably flattening anyone else who was left inside. Which was me a few minutes ago.

I feel horrible as I drive around the wreckage of the plantation house, but there's nothing I could've done. Well, except not have set the fire in the first place. But I had no idea it would get this much out of control…

A few fires rage on in the rubble of the plantation house. The truck bounces along the dirt road, a few lose bolts shaking here and there. I sigh, wiping my forehead free of sweat.

That's when I see the two Peacekeepers from earlier at the gate, standing right in the middle of the dirt road.

"Oh, shit!" I yell, clenching my hands against the wheel.

"Get out of the car, missy." Says the young Peacekeeper, the same one who aimed the gun at me earlier.

I sigh, opening the door of the truck and hopping down onto the squelchy brown mud. The Peacekeeper marches forwards with a pair of handcuffs in the crook of his arm, his right hand reaching to take them out. I make my decision then.

"Fine." I say, holding out my arms. He clicks the handcuffs around them, and I'm led back to the other Peacekeeper, who starts to walk down the wet mud trail.

"We'll just take you back to your parents. They don't know that you've been here, and they don't need to do. Last time was a misdemeanor, but…"

"I get it, Troth." I say, looking up at the all-but-familiar Peacekeeper. He grins.

"You might just go to jail for once, missy." The other Peacekeeper, the one I don't know, rubs his hands together, trying to warm himself up. The cold wind blows across the old path.

"There is no way I caused all that." I protest. Troth shrugs.

"Yeah. But did I say you caused anything? Nope. Thanks for the confession, though." He grins again.

"Oh, shut up. Why were you shooting people?"

"That's for me to know and for you to find out in the far future."

I give up trying to talk to him. Troth is my older cousin, and he always seems to know when I'm getting into trouble. He's caught me with the pyromania before, but this is new…

I look down the path ahead of us. It's filled with weeds and various ruts of broken, dried mud, and the cold wind blows at a headwind, causing me to blink every few seconds or so.

District 11 is a bleak place, filled with the horrors of mankind. The outcasts of Panem.

And here I am. One typical outcast.

Walking down this lonesome road…

I sigh. I hate the Capitol.

**Author's Note: Also, after this chapter there will no longer be an author's note at the beginning of the chapter. So, how do you like the new character? Sorry to the original author of her, as I had to alter her a little bit. Make sure to review!**


	10. Glitter and Egos

**Chapter Ten: Glitter and Egos**

_Aura Ollar_

Blood falls from his mouth as the sword slashes through his lower lip, also severing the tip of his nose. The sword slashes back and forth, making a sound similar to a pirated copy of _The Jabberwocky_. All of his limbs are torn off, sent to the opposite sides of the podium as Aurum swings the sword once again. His head goes flying off his shoulders, the blood spraying all over my brother.

"These dummies are too damn realistic." Aurum laughs, dropping the synthetic-blood stained sword on the training mat, glancing at the dismembered training dummy. He rips his slightly damaged black glove off of his left hand, throwing it onto the slightly dirtied floor. He wipes his hands on his cargo pants, tossing his training cap to the side.

"Well, wasn't that fun." Aurum grinned, his wide smile stretching to its limits. I sighed as my brother kicked aside a limb from the training dummy.

"C'mon, Aura, you have to train at some point. Otherwise Dad's gonna whoop your ass."

"You know he isn't. He only beats you."

"Yeah, right. I have tons of memories of him spanking you. Stealing shit out of the cookie jar and such."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Would I kid my little sister?"

"I...you're two minutes older than I am! That doesn't count."

"Oh, really? Well, I always seem to go first. Or is that because I'm a guy, not a girl who spends all of our money talking on the phone." Aurum grins.

"Shut up and give me the damn sword." I smile on the inside, knowing he's never going to change. Aurum kicks the sword across the floor and I catch it, lifting the blade up in one smooth movement. I turn and cut off the arms of the dummy nearest to me. With one last look at Aurum, I stab the sword through the dummy's head, and that's the end of that.

I have a lot of thoughts going through my head about the 100th Hunger Games. About the bullshit surrounding the new President of Panem, Annabelle Snow. Coriolanus died, and that should've been the end of it. But no, they had to bring in an impostor, call him Snow's "long lost brother," and put him in charge of Panem. Well, that didn't last long. The senile old man died of a supposed heart attack. And now Coriolanus' granddaughter is president, with new changes in store. As long as they don't change the Careers, it's fine with me.

Aurum and I have planned out a way to double our riches. It's simple: I win this year, he wins next year. Just like the famous Cashmere and Gloss duo. But there's a problem.

The problem is, this multiple victor thing doesn't sound good. Then again, no set of Games has ever lasted two weeks. The arena's also a problem. It is absolutely gigantic (don't ask how I know) and goes by the name of _Alt Prospekt_, although most people who know of it call it "The Glade." It's an old District 13 outpost, with nuclear weapons facilities and the whole shebang.

I guess that's how they're going to pull off the multiple victor thing. Except there won't be. Nobody else but I will survive the arena. I'll make sure of that.

Contrary to the other districts' beliefs, Careers get a ton of information about the Games beforehand, since Careers are almost always chosen beforehand. And because of that information, I knew about the hidden weapon in the arena, the deal with the two 13 rebels, and the "aftergame." But I digress, I'm not going to stress myself any further.

Aurum and I walk out of the Training Center, Aurum twirling a knife between his fingers, on the verge of slicing his skin off. But of course, he doesn't. Careers aren't supposed to make mistakes.

It's always fun preparing for the Reapings. I glance around the square, noticing all the watchtowers being set up, along with the huge screen for the Capitol's message and the showing of the Games. More propaganda bullshit, I guess.

I walk up to Fetch, the head Peacekeeper of District 1, who is busy supervising the building of the watchtowers. They're never needed in District 1, but it is standard protocol and the Peacekeepers are required to construct them.

"How's the construction going this year?"

"Not good. What we really need is more construction shit from my District, but that ain't happening."

"Your District?"

"District 2."

"Ah..."

"Well, it's nothing to worry about. We'll still be completed on schedule. But we won't have any time off to watch our Careers train. Especially you, little lady." He winked.

"I know, right? Such an honor."

"Be grateful you aren't one of those shitheads in the...ah...lesser rich Districts."

"Good point. Anyways...I kinda got sidetracked. I have a question."

"Yes?" I leaned forward.

"Any new stuff on the District 13 guys?"

"Not much. The girl's clever though. She's broken out twice, although she's been caught both times. I don't know what the deal is with her, though. I don't see her connection to Mr. Quazi. Him, on the other hand, has a full criminal record from District 8, and he's a spy for District 13.

"Well, I guess the cat's out of the bag with the whole District 13 thing."

"Not like anybody can do much about it. The Capitol's restocked the Peacekeeper staff, and boosted District 5's power to reach over the whole region. The fences are electrified 24/7."

"Seems like overkill."

"Yeah, but it's just to prevent anybody from joining the people with the nukes. It's more of a silent agreement between 13 and the Capitol. I can guess the other Districts have figured that out as well, but I have no way of knowing."

"Snow has to keep it under control, though, right?"

"Yeah, sure..."

I leave Fetch to his job and continue walking across the plaza. On my left, there's a printing machine spewing out small pieces of paper into a large glass bowl labeled "Girls," and I smile knowing that it won't even be needed.

Once I arrive back home, I can see that everyone else is a mess, preparing for the Reapings tomorrow. My younger sister, Aureate, is going through several choices of dresses she may wear tomorrow. My mom is cooking dinner, my dad's still out at the jewelry shop. Aurum is in the bathroom, giving himself a haircut. I shudder.

"Darling!" My mother exclaims. "How did the day go at the training today? I bet it was excellently wonderful! How many points did you and your sister score at the range?"

I sigh. I've given up trying to convince Mom that "the day" and "today" cancel each other out, or that Aureate doesn't go to training with me (she goes with her friends), or that there is no "range." I don't even know what a range is.

Aureate is the third triplet. Aurum is the oldest (by two minutes), I'm in the middle, and Aureate is three minutes younger than I am. But I never bug her about it the way Aurum gloats about his "elderness." He annoys me to no end, but he's my brother.

I'm sixteen, with golden blonde hair that all three of us share, along with our bright green eyes. This year, I'll be entering the Games, the next year Aurum, and after that Aureate. I decided to take the biggest risk with the Quarter Quell. And now I learn that "the rules have been altered" and that supposedly more than one tribute can survive if they make it to two weeks. But unless I remember wrong, only the first few Games ever made it to that length, when kids were still not used to the fact of murdering each other. Well, it must have sucked back then.

But I'm prepared for the two weeks in the arena. I'm spending as much time as my schedule allows at the training center. Mom continues making dinner, and I try to blot out her confused words as I walk through the elaborately decorated hallways of our home to my room. I've pretty much gotten everything I ever wanted, so I immediately hop on my laptop and search up the current styles in the Capitol.

One hairdo catches my eye: a simple but effective one-sided braid. It's famous from some past tribute, and I immediately grab my tools, including my makeup and other cosmetics. The time passes by as I slowly straighten out my hair and transform its normally pretty appearance into something much more beautiful. Aurum comes in a few times, asking about which tie he should wear, and I tell him it doesn't even matter, he won't be up on the stage. He grins.

Not much later, Mom calls us to dinner, which happens to be some large bird garnished with some fancy spices and what looks like radishes. It's a typical District 1 dinner.

As we eat, my mind wanders, and I wonder about how the Reapings tomorrow will turn out. I wonder who the male tribute will be, and if it'll be easy for me to kill him, if the opportunity arises. So many different thoughts are swirling through my head, so many that I don't even hear Mom's question.

"Huh?" I ask. Aurum snickers. Mom sighs.

"Aura, I asked how you think the Reapings are going to go tomorrow."

"Oh. Yeah, well that's what I was just thinking about. There's no decided male tribute, so I guess a bunch of guys are going to compete for the honor of being the tribute."

"I don't know either. Hey, be glad none of the Lyres can go anymore." Aurum grins.

"Lyres?"

"Katherine and Cathy. Cathy won two years ago, remember?" I think back to the 98th Games. Cathy Lyre killed the Career Pack in their sleep, and that pretty much assured her victory.

"Yeah, but I'm talking about guys. You all know I'm the female tribute." Mom smiles.

"Alright, fine, I won't tell you what I was going to." Aurum mutters.

"What?" I ask.  
>"Nevermind."<p>

"I hope Connor Fayme's the male tribute." Aureate pipes up.

"Fuck him."

"Aurum, language!" Mom glares at him, and he shuts up.

"Why Connor Fayme? It's not like he'll be able to win." I smile.

"Because you need someone hot to help our District with sponsors."

"Oh, so I'm not hot?" I scoff. "Aureate, I thought you were nicer." She sticks her tongue out at me.

The small talk at the dinner table pretty much ends after that, just Aureate and I teasing each other. Dad gets home late, stuck at the office because of new Capitol demands.

"You will not believe some of the orders people fill out." He tells me. When I ask, he describes tons of different class rings, necklaces, bracelets, and the like studded with jewels and gold plates. Usually the Capitol sucks at fashion, but I perk up when he mentions a ring embedded with an azure diamond.

"Azure diamond? Any way I could get one of them?" I ask. Dad chuckles.

"We'll see, Aura. Maybe for your birthday. In the meantime, how about you set out your outfit for the Reapings?"

"Yeah, Dad. I'll do it now." He smiles and claps me on the back, like he does with Aurum. It kind of hurts.

"Good luck, sweetie."

"Thanks, Dad." He wanders off to the kitchen, probably to grab something to eat before he falls into bed.

I go back to my room, glancing at the scattered clothes and cosmetics on my floor.

I look through my closet, hoping to see an obvious choice for the Reapings, but nothing seems to appeal to me. I move around the random crap in my closet, but I still find nothing. "I'll get it tomorrow." I mutter to myself. Kicking aside a few ribbons, I fall into my bed, not even caring to turn the lights out before I start to fall asleep.

It feels like the day before Christmas, and I just can't wait for the Games to begin.

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the unexpected summer break, I started it and it just kept going and going. But then August started and so did my writing, once again. Only one more chapter til the Reapings, and by then I'll definitely have my writing back in check. And for the Americans, good luck with school!


	11. Counting Down, District One Reapings

**Chapter 11: Counting Down, District One Reapings**

_Aura Ollar/Saimon Lyre_

_Aura Ollar_

Something doesn't feel right. I can't quite tell what it is, but it's making me sick. Tinges of green surround the edge of my vision, like I'm trying to peer through a mildewy shower drain. I see pieces of trash and a pool of blood on what looks like cracked tiles, moss growing in between the cracks. People are shouting nearby. I can almost make out...

"Aura!" Someone nearby shouts, but I can't tell who. It's hard to hear, like my ears are filled with cotton.

"Aura! Come on!" The voice is shouting again. It sounds a bit like...

"Aura! Wake up! You're going to sleep through the Reapings if you're not careful!" My eyes flutter open. Strange, I thought they already were. The person is still yelling.

"Don't make me get Dad!" Finally, the haze surrounding my sleep head disappears, and I sit straight up in bed. Bed? Oh, that's right, I was sleeping. How late did I stay up last night?  
>"How late did you stay up last night? You're moving like a rock." Aureate says, her hands darting through the piles of clothes on my floor. She's halfway dressed, her golden hair bouncing as she continues to sift through my clothes.<p>

"What...what are you doing..." I mumble sleepily. Aureate doesn't reply, getting back up from her place on my floor. I can see that my room's a mess. There are clothes absolutely everywhere. I didn't do that...did I?

"Do you mind?" Aureate asks, looking down at her wrist. I follow her gaze and I notice my hand clasped onto her arm.

"Oh...sorry."

"Aura. Wake up. Please. You're giving me a headache."

"Once you get out of my room." I mutter, leaning forward to get off of the bed. One of my sky-blue pillows lies on the floor in front of my feet, a small tear in the top left corner. I frown. My bedroom door shuts.

Aureate's left, I guess. I don't know why I'm so damn sleepy. I have a major headache, and...I guess I have a hangover. I grimace, remembering the alcohol I drank out of Dad's fridge after my mind refused to fall asleep. I'd stayed up until about one, thinking about what I would have to wear. I grinned, knowing that I had decided and that my wonderful outfit was hidden in my closet, just waiting for me to put it on.

I stumble out of my room and walk down the hallway towards the kitchen. My stomach feels like it's gnawing on itself, trying to fulfill my appetite before I make it to breakfast. The headache starts to kick in again and I almost fall down. My hand goes to the wall, and I try to steady myself.

"Breathe, Aura...breathe." I say to myself. I hear footsteps, and I turn to see Aurum coming up behind me.

"You know, Aura, talking to yourself is one of the first signs of insanity."

"Not funny, Aurum. What's for breakfast?"

"Pancakes, I think. Or waffles. Or French toast. Your pick, really."

I sigh, knowing that he's not going to give me a straight answer. I continue on my way to the kitchen, Aurum right behind me. I practically fall into a chair when I arrive, and Mom glances at me while she continues making waffles.

"Are you ready, honey? Prepared to volunteer?"

"Yes, mother. I just can't wait for the Games."

"I'm sure you can't. Have you seen your father? He left early this morning and I haven't seen him since."

"Ah, no. The last time I talked to him was late last night."

"What were you doing up that late? The night before the big day?"

"Well...I was preparing my outfit." Mom smiles at my response.

"Then you had better hurry up and eat so you can go put it on!" She puts a plate of waffles in the center of the table and sets out five plates, just in case Dad comes back. Aureate is nowhere to be seen, probably still back in her room, looking for clothes.

I don't really feel like eating, so I end up leaving the table and going back to my room before Mom can even ask me anything. I gaze at the wall opposite my bed, my Capitol poster barely hanging onto the wall with sticky tack. The closet lies right next to the poster, so I walk over and casually open the door, looking at the beautiful silver dress hanging on a hook.

"This is what I've been waiting for..." I smile, taking the dress off of the hook. Today is going to be a lot of fun.

_Saimon Lyre_

"Hey, Bonbon."

"Yo, Bonbon, what's up?"

"Chocolate Boy's gonna cry."

"Aww, is Bonbon gonna cry?"

"What a wimp."

"Shut it!" I yell, trying to ignore the voices in my head. Even when they're not around, my sisters' voices tease me to no end. It's no use trying to get away, because they'll always follow.

"What are you yelling about, Saimon?" My mom asks me. I wave her off and go back to staring at my cereal bowl, filled with some kind of chocolate/wheat "healthy" mix that I'm expected to eat for breakfast every morning.

I can't help but continue to stare at the tons of boxes that surround my seat in the dining room. They are filled with all sorts of things that Cathy has bought with her Victor money. It pisses me off to no end, but it's not like there's anything I can do about it.

Cathy and Katherine are my sisters. They're twins, two years older than me and both with the same blonde-hair-dyed-pink and bright blue eyes. I'm seventeen, almost to the end of my volunteering years, and I might as well be the laughingstock of District 1.

My sisters get all the fame just because Cathy won the Games two years back, and nobody cares about their little brother with the golden amber eyes and the dirty blonde hair and the big nose that his sisters tease him about. I sigh, knowing my life is never going to get much better unless I win the Games. Which is exactly what I plan to do this year.

Everyone knows my family because of Cathy and my dad. William Lyre is a big (in both ways) chocolatier that is one of the Capitol's major chocolate suppliers. He's very nice, but isn't very fond of the Capitol on account of how it has turned my sisters into self-righteous whores. Then again, they were pretty much always that way.

"Honey, are you going to finish your cereal?"

"Oh...not really, mom." Aesha is my step-mom, and practically the only African American person in District 1 that I know. I don't know why I still call her mom, as she certainly isn't. I guess as a little kid I just needed someone to attach to.

"Saimon, if you're not going to eat, then you should just probably get ready for the Reapings." I nod, looking around for the tie that I put on the table earlier. I can't find it, so I end up looking under the table, and that's where I find it: crumpled and dirty.

"Crap..." I mutter. I hold the tie out to Aesha. "Mom, can you tie it for me?"

"Sure, Saimon." she smiles, taking the tie in her hands and expertly tying it around my neck, tight and secure. I suppose she's done this for Dad countless times, whenever he has a business meeting or the like. After she's done, Aesha nods and sends me on my way, telling me that she and my sisters will meet up with me later, after the Reapings. Little do they know...

I guess the only thing I have left to do is meet up with Connor.

Connor and I make an odd pair. Probably because he's one of the most popular people of District One, and frankly, I'm not. Nobody could ever guess that we would be friends. I've never had a girlfriend, and he's had about twenty. Our age is only a year apart, but it feels like he's much older than I am. I guess that's just because of the experiences that he's had.

A bunch of girls want him to volunteer this year, and I think he will, since it's his last year. It's unfortunate that it is, because I will beat him to the stage. I can't stand one more year of bullying and harassment. This is my only chance, and I'm going to take it.

I walk down the cleanly paved streets of District 1, towards "Lyre's Chocolate and Candy Shop," the lame name of Dad's business for the past ten years. I can't remember what he did before, but it must have not been very eventful. The door bell dings when I walk through the expensive glass door, my dress shoes rubbing on the woven brown door mat.

Dad looks up from his place at the front counter, waving at me with a grin on his chubby face.

"Hey, Dad. How's the store going this morning?"

"Good enough, I guess. Connor's in the back room, he'll be out in a second." I nod, knowing that Connor has worked for my dad for about the last few months. I wait a few moments until Connor walks through the back door.

"Saimon!" He grins, clapping me on the shoulder. I smile uneasily, knowing it's not going to be simple; what I'm about to tell him. He's going to kill me, and I guess that's why I've waited up until Reaping Day.

"Connor...how's the shop?"

"Well, it's doing fine. I gotta go soon, though, to prepare for the Reapings."

"Yeah, about that..." I say, and Connor looks at me strangely. He puts down his bag and looks me in the eyes.

"What, Saimon?"

"I'm going to volunteer this year." Oh, that was it. I had decided to do it quick, like ripping off a band-aid. It didn't seem to turn out too well. Dad glances up from the counter.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Connor asks, his face turning red from anger. "I've planned this for what, the last year and here you are saying you're going to prance up onto the stage and take my place? I don't think so, Chocolate Boy!" I cringe. Connor's never used that insult on me.

"Oh, shut up and get down off your horse, Mister High and Mighty. If you go in all cocky you'll end up like Marcus Lain." I bite my lip at the memory of the failed Career, at the memories of seeing his crying siblings carted down the street to the orphanage.

"Was that an insult I heard? Coming from _you_? _Saimon Lyre_? Give it up, Saimon. Nobody's going to cheer for you if you jump up on that stage. Assuming you can beat me."

"That's what I want. I don't need support. I need to show them that I have no need for anyone. Including you. Prick." I sneer. Connor practically explodes.

"Of course you need us. You need your fake mom to nag you, and your stupid-ass sisters to bitch and tease you! Without William's money, you wouldn't even eat! Of course you need all of us. Especially me, to tell _you_ that it is an ultimately _stupid_ idea!"

"Shut up! Just shut up, shut up, _shut up_! You can't sway me, Connor! There's nothing you can do!"

"Oh, yeah, Chocolate Boy? We'll see about tha-"

"GET OUT OF MY SHOP!" I hear the booming voice of my father, and I spin to face him, at a loss for words. Then I realize that he's talking to Connor. Connor clenches his fists, but rather than argue with my dad, he picks up his bag and leaves. The doorbell dings as the glass door shuts closed.

Then Dad turns to face me.

"Don't do it, Saimon. For the love of God, don't volunteer. If you win, I don't need another arrogant child, and if you don't...I'm not going to say it. But please, Saimon, can you not volunteer? For me? For Aesha? For your family?" William is almost crying.

"Dad...yeah. I won't Dad. I promise." The fake promise of those lies taste bitter on my tongue. Without a further word, I turn and exit through the glass door. Sorry, Dad, but maybe you'll understand after I win.

_Aura Ollar_

"Hey, guys, what's up?" Aureate says, leaning on the door frame to my room. Aurum shrugs.

"I don't know. I've mainly been waiting for you so we can all make it to the town square together." He says, hopping up off of my bed. Aureate smiles.

"Well, why don't we get going, then?" With a curt goodbye to Mom, promising that I'll see her at the Reapings, I try to mentally prepare myself for what's going to happen. I'm just going to make a sprint for the stage, ignoring all of the shouts and screams of my fellow citizens, ignoring the other girls that will likely be making a rush for the stage. I try to clear my mind as I walk alongside Aureate and Aurum to the front of the tribute processing stand. I hate how they call it that. It's like we've already been selected. People of all ages and sizes mill around in their designated areas.

I'm the last in line behind Aureate and Aurum, and I daze into the crowd while they have their fingers pricked and are registered in the database. My hangover doesn't seem to go away, and I curse myself for drinking that alcohol last night.

They take my blood and the machine registers me as "Aura Ollar." I smile and make my way over to the sixteen-year-old area, and I notice that Aureate is already waiting for me.

"Hey, you ready?" She smiles. I grin.

"I hope so. The hangover's making me a bit off-kilter, but I'll be fine."

"Alright, but make sure your head's on straight when the mayor starts his speech." As soon as she says that, I glance up towards the stage and see Mayor Peach, with his rotund body and absurd last time, huffing and puffing as he helps set out chairs.

"When did he ever get so fat?" I ask, mystified. Aureate laughs.

"_Pay attention_, Aura."

"I am, sister mine." Aureate sticks her tongue out.

Mayor Peach flusters to regain his normal body temperature, although I doubt he's ever going to do it. Then the whole crowd shifts as our Escort walks on stage.

Her name is Janiy Erren, and she absolutely loves to show off her big, white teeth to anybody who is looking at her. Her hair is practically spray-painted silver, she's wearing silver contacts, her dress shimmers with silver, her heels are made of silver, and I can even spot the smudges of silver body paint on her elbows and shoulders and the like. What is up with the silver?

Batting her silver-painted eyelashes, Janiy walks forwards to take the microphone from the pudgy mayor. Then the show gets on the road.

Janiy talks about the events of the Dark Days, the events that we are required to learn in school and then we have to hear about them _again_ every year at the Reapings. It's heart-wrenchingly boring, but nobody else seems to care. They're too busy talking amongst themselves.

"Why do I put up with this crap?" I whisper to Aureate.

"Because you have to in order to be a tribute." She smiles.

"Just wait until you turn eighteen. We'll be cheering you on." I wink. Aureate turns, trying to hide her smile.

"And now, it is finally time to choose our lucky two tributes from District One! Let's give them a round of applause shall we...oh dear..." Janiy mutters, apparently confused.

"You haven't even picked 'em yet!" A voice calls out from the male eighteen's section, and most of the assembled audience snickers. Peacekeepers set off for the source of the voice while Janiy composes herself.

"As usual...same as the last one hundred years, girls will be picked first." Janiy says abruptly, and totters on her heels over to the large glass bowls that contains all of the slips for the female residents of District One, ages twelve to eighteen. Janiy extravagantly lets her hand fall into the bowl, sifting around in the small slips of paper in a way that reminds me of Aureate sifting through my clothes this morning. Finally, she holds up a slip in front of her eyes, scrutinizing it with those silver contacts.

"Alyssa Chandleiye!" Janiy calls out, and a bored-looking girl just saunters out of the sixteen-year-old part of the girls' section. I brace myself, knowing what is coming next.

"Now, are there any volunteers?" I practically knock Aureate over as I plunge through the crowd, desperate to get to the front. I notice several over girls struggling, and I grin knowing I'm going to make it.

When I'm right in front of the stairs someone trips me, and I watch in horror as Jaewa, a girl I recognize from last year's History of Panem class, surges in front of me. As a last ditch effort I grab her ankle and she falls, her face smashing into the carefully-crafted wooden steps of the stage. She might have lost a tooth, but I don't care. I walk up next to Janiy, not even tired from my ordeal. Alyssa seems to breathe out a sigh of relief, but I can't tell.

"And your name is?" Janiy asks.

"Aura Ollar."

"Oh, how cute." Janiy smiles, and I almost cringe at her blinding white teeth. "Now, for the boys!" She announces. Alyssa leaves the stage and hurries back to her friends in the sixteens' section.

"Deek Staedus!" Nobody says anything, and then a small boy is pushed out of the fourteens' section, a worried look on his face. Before he even makes it to the stage, I hear shouts as a bunch of boys race to make it to the front of the stage.

Two boys are singled out as they come up in front of the steps. The one in front I recognize as Connor Fayme, the guy Aureate was wondering about, wondering if he would volunteer. It looked like he was. I didn't recognize the slightly smaller boy right behind him with the golden eyes, but right before Connor makes it to the stage, the smaller boy leaps on his back. Connor roars in anger and tries to swing him off. The smaller boy hangs on for a moment, but then Connor succeeds...throwing the boy onto the stage, much to my astonishment.

Connor's face just drops, all emotion draining out of it. He falls backwards on his behind, on the verge of crying like a little boy. The Peacekeepers come and drag him away, and the smaller boy in front of me stands up.

"Wow, so eager these days. What's your name, young man?" Janiy asks.

"Saimon Lyre." He replies, slowly standing up to his feet. The name sounds familiar, but I just can't quite put my finger on it. He's not as small as I thought he was, he's actually just a bit taller than me, although that's most likely because he's older than me as well. We shake hands as required, and I'm surprised to find his cold and clammy. Is he...nervous about something? I guess Connor will probably confront him, and that won't be easy. Just like that, Janiy turns and escorts us towards the back of the stage, just like she's supposed to do every year, and we enter the Town Hall.

My new life as a Hunger Games tribute has begun.

_Saimon Lyre_

I twiddle my thumbs endlessly, dreading the moments that are about to come. I know that I'll have to come face to face with Connor, and I know how mad he will be.

What I can't face is what my dad will have to say to me. He expected me to follow his instructions, not to run after Connor like a blind man and prove my sisters right, that I was selfish. Well, I wasn't selfish. I wasn't doing it for my old man, or my bitchy sisters, or my step-mom, or raging Connor. I was doing it for myself. I need to prove myself.

Even though Connor and William couldn't see it, I know that I am capable of winning these Games. Whatever is thrown at me by the Gamemakers, it's just a hurdle. Nothing will be able to stop me.

Anyways, I know the "multiple tributes live after two weeks" thing to be total bullshit. It's more likely that if there isn't only one tribute left, _everyone_ dies. I know that's rather drastic, but I know that they wouldn't allow multiple victors again, not after the 74th Games.

So I'm prepared for the arena. Not as prepared as I will be after training, but I'm prepared.

I hear the door knock against the wall as someone enters. I barely have time to look up before someone's hand is at my throat and practically lifting me up out of my chair. Of course I immediately know that it's Connor.

"Why? Why'd you do it, Saimon?"

"Why did you do it? If you hadn't thrown me up onto the stage, I wouldn't have made it." This seems to enrage Connor further, and I feel like the luckiest man in the world for that fact that he isn't pummeling me in the face right now.

"It's just that...I can't stand to lose another friend. Not after Flare."

"Heartforth?" I wonder, my mind going back to last year's Games.

"Yeah. I kind of knew her by passing before the Games, but in the weeks leading up to them, I started talking more with her. She was sarcastic, and she could be cruel, but she was a Career. What can you expect?" Connor smiles. I can see that he's starting to mellow out. "But when she volunteered for the Games, expectant to win, boom. Another friend, gone. And now I'm probably going to lose another."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what, Saimon!" He hoarsely yells. "Just...don't die on me okay? I won't forgive you if you do. Or your sisters." I grin. "Good luck, Saimon."

"Alright, Connor." The Peacekeepers come and take Connor away before he can say anything else, and I know that I won't be seeing him for a long time.

Dad enters next, and I try to hide the look of shame on my face.

"Don't hide it, Saimon. I understand that in your mind, your act was justified, but I have to ask. Why? Why'd you do it?"

"Don't ask me the same questions as Connor..." I mumble, and Dad lifts my face up, his double chin slightly quivering.

"I mean it. What am I supposed to say to Aesha? That my only son just upped and went away to the Hunger Games, to have himself...to have himself a grand old time!" William is almost sobbing now, and I don't know what to do to comfort him. "Just come back...can you do that?" He asks. I nod, biting my lip.

"Here...I wasn't originally going to give it to you, but what the hell." William smiles, handing me a metal sign that I recognize from the chocolate shop.

"What..." I start, and then I groan when I see the word "Bonbons" emblazoned on the metal cover. "Thanks, Dad." I smile, trying not to laugh.

"Good luck. And if you meet your match in the arena...run. Stick with the Careers as long as you can."

"I'll see you in a few weeks, Dad."

"I hope so..." he trails off, and then leaves without the Peacekeepers' assistance. Not that I would call it assistance anyways, but they're doing their job.

I was hoping that I wouldn't have any more visitors, but I groan inwardly when Cathy and Katherine walk through the old wooden door, grins plastered on both of their faces.

"Aww, is little baby Bonbon growing up?" Cathy asks, patting my head. "Volunteering for the big, bad Hunger Games? Isn't that sweet!"

"Oh, can it, Cathy."

"That's not a very nice way to talk to your sister, Bonbon." Katherine waggles her finger. I shove her hand away.

"Why did you come? For any reason other than gloating?"

"Well, Katherine came to say goodbye. Which is why she's leaving now." Cathy grins. Katherine scoffs, but then Cathy pushes her out of the room and that's the last I see of her.

"I'm here because I'm going to be with you every step of the way,_ bro_." I grind my teeth together at the nickname. "We'll be having lots of fun in the Capitol, and I bet you just can't wait. Don't worry, I'll actually try to mentor you. But don't blame me if you die in the arena." She leaves me sitting in the chair, leaving me mystified as to why she wasn't up on stage with the other mentors in the first place. I have little time to ponder my thoughts before the Peacekeepers roughly hoist me up from my chair and haul me across the room.

"Hey! I'm not a prisoner, you know." They reluctantly let go, and I walk to the exit for the train station, noticing Aura walking in front of me. The chocolate sign is clasped in my grip as I walk onto the platform, pausing a moment before I get on the train. Cameras are everywhere.

Tons of people are waving goodbye, some excited, some scared. I think back to Cathy's words. "We'll be having lots of fun in the Capitol."

And I realize, she's right.

The Capitol is going to be insanely fun.

**Author's Note:** To be honest, that is the longest chapter I have ever written in my life. Astonishing, huh? I might have a problem with a few tributes, so be on the lookout if any spots open. Hopefully their forms will be recovered, but who knows...Hey, isn't it great that I'm updating on a regular schedule? No more false promises? I hope the next chapter will be long, but we'll see when we get there.

Speaking of the next chapter, I just decided to tell my POV ideas to go to hell and that I'll grace every tribute with a Reapings POV, and that only after that I will reinstate my six tributes and one mentor ideas. In the meantime, have you guys thought about reviewing? It'll really help my self esteem. Anyways, see ya next chapter!


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